It’s been a hard day’s night, I should be sleeping like a log

The kids had a snow day on Friday and another one yesterday, making today a false Monday and putting an end to their four day weekend. Winter has officially hit Long Island.

The day began like any other weekday, some breakfast, packed lunches and snacks, strange outfits and running down the block while the bus patiently sits at the corner with its doors open, ready to swallow up reluctant children. The day is in full swing with lots to get done.

By the time the evening comes, I sit on the couch with a cup of coffee ready to relax, a reward to myself. Sometimes I make a mental list of all the little tasks that I was able to do and I feel accomplished. I sit there all “Carpe Diem” and “Zen-like” feeling proud of myself. You did a good job. There will always be more to do, but you chipped away at the ol’ block today! You owned it today.   It’s usually around this time it starts . . .

“Go to bed,” I say slightly above my typical speaking voice. I can hear pattering feet above me. I decide to make my trip to the bathroom a surprise inspection, popping my head into their rooms while they scramble like cockroaches to their beds and fumble under the covers.

It’s only a few minutes later, their little voices are carried throughout the house, usually giggling or arguing and lots of shushing one another.

“Get in bed,” I shout out, with hope that they will instantaneously feel tired and fall asleep.

Skipping over the dreadful details, the evening typically concludes with me explaining to myself, out loud, that I am not being unreasonable by asking them to go to bed. We did everything that had to get done, it was a packed day and now its time for sleep. Simple.

If the phone rings and I decide to have a conversation, not work related, not bill related, just a casual, shoot-the-shit phone call, I find myself every few minutes pulling the phone away to scream like I have a disease. I am forced against my will to frequently get off the couch to sort them all back into their correct rooms and beds.

Just a few of the things that fly out of my mouth almost every night.

  • I’m done!
  • I’ve punched out!
  • So much happened today. How are you not tired?
  • That’s it! You’re all going to bed a half hour earlier tomorrow.
  • Please just go to bed. Please.
  • Now you’re thirsty? Really?
  • GO PEE THEN!
  • It’s a school night and because I said so, that’s why.
  • The kitchen is closed!
  • NO! I have already tucked you in twice, now you’re on your own!
  • SLEEP!

Not sure what I am doing wrong here, but by the time they all settle down, I can’t even think straight. Any creativity to write or desire to read has been drained and I just sit there in shock.

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Right.

 

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My Ass Hurts!

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PITA

Yes, you read that correctly. My ass, does in fact hurt! Why does my ass hurt? I will gladly explain what is causing my ass pain.

Child 1 : Likes to fight with Child 2. Loves to leave dirty laundry on the floor. Hates to share video games. Doesn’t enjoy eating vegetables. Forgets everything. I am not exaggerating on this one, like EVERYTHING!

Child 2: Also enjoys fighting with Child 1. Loves to change into as many outfits as she can in a day. She like to go through my closet to try on my shoes and scuff them. She hates to share. She doesn’t really play with anything. She likes to do things but not play. She would like to employ me as a personal masseuse or entertainment to be ready at her disposal. Loves to spend most of her time setting something up and then abandoning the project. For example, she will pull out tables, blankets, toys, clothes to set up a pretend store, but before she actually plays, gets bored, abandons the idea and leaves the mess. 😦

Child 3: She enjoys crying and whining. She loves to ask for things in that sing song whining voice. EEEK!!! She also enjoys changing clothes and often protests getting left out of what Child 2 is doing. She like to secretly write on the walls and then pretend it wasn’t her, even thought it says her name. She hates to use the bathroom and needs to be dragged to use the facilities. She much rather hold it in until she explodes.

Child 4: She like to eat, eat & eat again. When I cut her off, she cries, cries and cries. She has a cry and scream that can probably speak to the whales in the depth of the sea. She likes to get into things she isn’t suppose to, especially something that is important to Child 1, 2 or 3. She enjoys spilling toys on the floor and then running away. She also enjoys changing her clothes, but when I need her to be dressed she lays limp, not wanting to participate in getting dressed. Go figure.

All of this going on simultaneously can be a real pain in my ass. I love them, I truly do. These people are the air that I breathe and my purpose in life, but sometimes they can be real assholes. I have decided to express to my husband that I am at my wits end. These kids are a bunch of assholes. He simply sips his coffee, unfazed and replies, “I blame it on the parents.”  😦

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Thank you for listening to my rant, again! 🙂

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Foot In Mouth Disease – It’s a serious thing people!

Hi My name is Lisa and I have Foot in Mouth Disease.

Hi Lisa (Readers says in unison)

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I have a problem. Words take a zip line from my brain and fly out of my mouth in a nano second. So fast, that I don’t have an opportunity to grab a hold of them for inspection, to making sure they are safe for the public to hear. If you are ever wondering what I am thinking, just sit next to me for a few minutes. Some of you might be like, Wow, that’s not such a bad quality. Why is she complaining about this?  

I’ll tell you why. Example #1:

I am at a close friends gathering. Her boyfriend is there, they have been dating a while now. His parents are there as well. I think to myself : Lisa, those poor people don’t know anyone. Go over there and be charming. Make them feel comfortable and welcomed. Go!  So, I stroll over there, introduce myself and make conversation. Before you know it, they are telling me about how they named there son (my friends boyfriend). It was a toss between two names, the name he has or some dorky name.

“Well, I think you made the right choice. Its a good thing you didn’t name him Dorky Name. He would have been terrorized growing up. Could you imagine?” I say, without coming up for air. Then, I continue to say all the ways you could make fun of a person with said Dorky Name. I am rhyming out different insults tied to the name, even a little song. Mind you, I am counting on my fingers all the ways I came up with to prove that they clearly made the right choice. This goes on for about a solid five minutes (I am not exaggerating, I wish I was). FINALLY, I stop moving my mouth and there, there it was. The SILENCE. I’ve done it again.

“Dorky Name is my name” Boyfriends Dad says, straight faced and very insulted.

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Yup! I do this all the dam time!

My intention is not to be malicious and I am sorry if I have ever insulted anyone out there.

Does anyone in the crowd have the same disease as me? Can you top this story?

I must warn you, this is the tip of the ice burg as far as stories. I have been suffering from this for a loooong time. I got stories!

The good news is I have a prescription for it now.

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Ahh! Words to live by!

Confessions of a Late Night Scandal

I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come right out and say it.

I ate the chocolate covered pretzels (sigh).  I didn’t mean to, honest.  Let me explain, please!

It was late at night and I was shutting off the lights, moving the elf, dumping the last few cups lying around, out in the sink for the morning, typical night.  On my way into the bedroom, the dim light caught the reflection of the box.  The metallic, red color, perfectly tied white bow, and a peek-a-boo window, there it was just sitting there, begging me to look in its direction.  I pretended not notice, looking through my drawers for something more comfortable to slip into.  I turned my back to it, as I let my pants and bra fall to my feet and when I looked over my shoulder, it was faced in my direction. My lips curled up in a smirk and I quickly put on the oversized shirt for bed.  “No, you don’t belong to me” I whispered, as I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to control my urge to rip it open and indulge. I took a few steps closer and it became more persuasive, to seemingly show me more of what I was turning down. I felt hot and a moment of weakness passed over me.  It happened so quick, I tore everything off it in a moment, until I had what I was looking for, a mixture of sweet and salty decadence.  It was as good as it looked and it hit the spot.

When it was over, I went into the bathroom to clean up, stepping over the evidence on my bedroom floor. I felt like I was going to be sick. It was wrong and I knew it.  I had bought them as a holiday gift, they were not for me.  I fell weak to its seduction and I’m sorry. I am reminded of the shame when I look at my list of people I need to buy for, I have had to painfully re-write the name for whom it was intended for.  The store clerk questioned me,”I thought you crossed everyone off last week?” I slid the revised list in my pocket and lied, “I miscounted.”

My guilt has forced me to move all of them out of my bedroom. This will never happen again. I swear! I have moved forward and so should you.

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