Thursday, March 19, 2015

Is it Bedtime Yet?

*Disclaimer: The portions of this blog post depicting my husband's obvious lapse in judgement were shared with permission...and a laugh.*

It started last night.

I reminded my husband that it was his turn to get up and feed the baby in the middle of the night. His response was that I should do it since he has to get up and go to work in the morning (he gets up at an ungodly (sarcasm) 7:50 am) and I can stay home and take a nap if I'm tired.

Sleep did not balm the wound on that one, so I woke up in a fowl mood.

Then I got to deal with the insurance some more, who refuse to cover any of the medical expenses (in upwards of $200,000, ya know, pocket change) stemming from my son's NICU stay and life flight. They tell me to deal with the hospital about it. The hospital tells me to deal with them. I think that after they both tell me this, they meet up for Dr. Pepper in a Sonic parking lot and laugh at me.

I went to my son's parent/teacher conference this morning, making special care not to wear yoga pants. After that, I took my three little darlings to the park to play until they were tired enough to take a nap spend some quality time together, and after an hour (which I personally find to be a very reasonable allotment of time since I didn't get to bring a friend to gossip with while the kids played) I said we had to go home. If only it had been that easy. My three year old responded with taking off her left shoe and throwing it at me, and then standing by the playground screaming bloody murder while I tried to play the "fine, I'm leaving" game with her and load the other two into the car. The game didn't work, as she has a head as thick as a ball of solid steel. Someone walked up to her and probably thought she was seriously distraught, because my daughter is an incredible actress, and bent over with the body language of "Where is your mommy, little girl?" I could see it all very clearly from where I was putting the stroller back into my trunk (maybe 20 feet away) and thought, "Oh, crap." That's when Ellie punched her and ran away screaming. Ellie has a solid right hook...excellent follow through. She was still screaming when I got to her (no tears, just wails of horror) and I picked her up, tossed her over my shoulder and mouthed an "I'm sorry" as we walked to the car. I tried to act normal and in control while quietly whispering threats into her ear. Then I wondered how many people were watching me and wondering if I was kidnapping the small human currently screaming like a banshee and only wearing one shoe.

So, we came home. Where I instructed my kids to clean up their room and was subsequently called "the hugest meanest butt hole" by my six year old. Then, when I found that my daughter had escaped and was not in fact in her room cleaning, she came out of my room wearing a heavy application of my lipstick but acting nonchalant as if she was just going for an afternoon stroll. Refer to the previous about her acting abilities. When I went into my room to assess the damages I was lucky not to find any remnants of the makeover. I did, however, find gum in the carpet and a broken curtain rod. Occupational hazard.
While fixing the curtain rod, I heard someone yell, "IS THAT POOP?" I walked in to find Ellie waving her hand in front of her nose and denying any involvement in the aforementioned matter. Landon says he saw Ellie do it. Ellie scoffs at that. Let's just say that my daughter blamed her dad. The accused has not confirmed nor denied the allegations.

The rest of the afternoon has gone by in a blur. I vaguely remember getting baby throw up in my hair and answering the door for a neighbor who will probably go home and say bad things about me in concerned tone to her husband. I said bad things about her to myself when she left. In all fairness it was mostly because she's skinny and tan and I'm 6 weeks post baby, so it angered me greatly. I may or may not have seen red fire. It wasn't her fault. But I blame her and I'm not ashamed.

I would go ahead and call the day a parenting failure. However, I diligently remembered to refill my birth control and not for nothing, but pretty sure the pharmacist knew exactly why I was getting it filled due to the two older kids hitting each other behind me. I also typed the last few sentences of this with one hand so I could hold in a binkie for my youngest with the other hand. On that note, I'm going to go now. Pray for me.

So, hubby, when do I get my nap?

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