I feel strongly that I should warn you about the nature of this post. It’s a whiney, first-world rant of the largest degree. Move forward at your own risk.
I’m in a bitch of a mood. It started at 6:30 this morning when Wallace jumped on Pier’s head. Piers slept in my room last night because he was scared and couldn’t go to sleep.
Fine. I’m not the kind of mother who loathes children in my bed. I kind of like it. They sleep; they’re quiet; they’re not taking things apart or sneaking out the house.
I discovered somewhere around my third year as a parent, that all those experts who say “calmly walk your children back to their bed” must be parenting in the past tense and have forgotten how fucking exhausting it is to parent babies and toddlers. I also think most of the experts write under the assumption that people are only parenting one kid at a time. My friends with multiples and children close in age vouch for my frustrations. I only have two and my oldest has always been a better sleeper than the younger. Part of this, I’m certain, is personality, but I also think it has to have something to do with the fact that our world revolved around ONLY Piers and his schedule for the first eighteen months of his life. This might not sound like a long time, but it was long enough to ensure that he got on a decent sleep schedule with adequate hours logged at night and two good naps during the day.
So . . . back to this morning. Piers and I were sleeping soundly until Wallace bounded onto the scene and wrestled Piers so he’d have someone to play with. I’m showing the complexity of my first-born nature here, but is it my imagination or are younger siblings less inclined to play independently? I’m sure this is also more individual than I’m attributing credit here, but damn it, Wallace needs to be with people all the time. I’m sure it’s hard for him as the only youngest in the house. Gil and I are both first-borns, and then Piers is our first-born, so Wallace probably doesn’t get the understanding he deserves. It makes sense that he likes being with people — he’s never really been by himself. We don’t have loads of relatives beating down our door begging to take one kid at a time, and when they volunteer their childcare services, Gil and I are quick to thrust both angels into their loving arms before they retract the offer.
We should work on that. Our kids could definitely use a bit more one-on-one time with each of us.
Once Piers was up, I went back to sleep for an hour or so until I heard Gil in the shower. I really want to be an early riser, but in forty years of life, the only way I manage to be up and productive at 6am is if I’m forced to be — be it work, school or other activity. And while I’m ranting, I’d also like to pick a bone with those time experts who insist that it takes a mere three weeks to form a habit. I’ve spent years of my life getting up at the crack-ass of dawn and if I don’t have a gun to my head (okay, strong exaggeration, but you catch my drift), I’m not gonna be up before nine.
But this morning was a sleep-with-one-eye-open kind of day. For the most part, the kids were playing happily, so I took advantage of the opportunity to rest.
I think I’m having an emotional come-down from the holidays. It doesn’t help that I’ve eaten entirely too many Lindt chocolate balls this season. I do better staying away from sugar. Most candy I can have a piece or two and that’s it, but as soon as I eat Lindt chocolate I want the entire freaking bag. I had the last four this morning for breakfast once I finally roused myself out of bed, so I’m done with those for the season.
Sugar has been my nemesis lately. I’ve kind of just given in and am letting it be. I like to do that every now and then, but I’m ready for the new year and the opportunity to get back to some healthier habits. I do still have the ingredients for another batch of peppermint bark, so the kids and I will make that and pass most on to neighbors, but once the kids are back in school on Jan. 6, I want all the junk food out of the house for a while.
I think I’m the most irritated because I’m supposed to be at my friend’s house in Atlanta for the week. Unfortunately, I’m home in my house with my active children and a few neighborhood kids. I’ve had a car situation and wasn’t able to get mine serviced to the point of feeling comfortable taking it and the kids out of town. I actually looked at a couple of new-to-me cars but nothing felt right, so I’ll continue vehicle hunting after the holidays. I’m just kind of bummed because I was looking forward to seeing Brinne. I haven’t made many close friends here since we moved and honestly I’m kind of craving human connection — like adult interaction and girlfriends with whom I can discuss openly the trials in my marriage.
It didn’t help my sour mood when a kid from down the street bounded into my room before I was even up this morning telling me what game he wanted to play. Grrrr. I mean, I’m happy to have people over, but stay the hell out of my bedroom, and for the love, knock on the door before you crash on into the house. Oh, and we also had a termite inspection at ten that I forgot was scheduled. Thankfully, Gil was here to accompany the inspector, but that’s how the day started and I’ve been crabby every since.
I did some yoga, tried to meditate after, but I’m just feeling kind of blah. Writing seems to be helping.
What about you? Anyone else having a post-Christmas funk? Any tips for getting out of it?