The Man went back to school this week (after nearly two weeks off--woohoo!), in case you were wondering where I've been. (That, and I was plagued by another round of migraines and started some new blood-pressure medicine. Oy.)
Because TM is in school full-time, I've been home all day, every day, with all the kids. Under some circumstances that wouldn't be impossible to deal with. In fact, I suspect that most moms do not get so stressed by their children that they begin their days by threatening homicide. But I have to be different. Or rather, my kids do.
So they cannot simply walk on the floor (even when it's clear of toys and trash); oh no, they must run and jump and fling themselves on the furniture, preferably head down so that their little necks look like they will surely snap. Of course. And they cannot simply talk to people who are standing within 5 feet of them in a room less than 10 feet square. Oh no. They must yell at volumes calculated to carry in a baseball stadium-- during the World Series. And when they get really excited they must utter sudden and piercing shrieks over and over like a flock of possessed gulls.
This is when they're on their good behavior, mind you. Today they... weren't. It's been building up all week-- Monday, they were pretty good (Monday is also a short day), Tuesday, it was quite a bit harder (TM is gone for about 12 hours on Tues/Thurs and I'm still coping with crippling pain and coma-inducing medications). Today was the worst. After TM came home, I'd wanted to just crawl into a corner and cry, but instead I had to help keep the monkeys under control while he very kindly fixed dinner. And it almost wasn't enough.
After dinner, I did go crawl under a blanket and shake violently from the stress, but the animals found me anyway. While their dad was on the phone trying to persuade his brother to move in with us, the kids swarmed over my bed, sat on me, and whacked me with books to indicate that it was story time. But I couldn't even do that. I, who used to study Chinese and Russian simultaneously in the middle of the night with my eyes shut, couldn't even open my eyes and read Go, Dog. Go!
I wanted to be back on my feet before time to tuck the little brigands in, but I simply couldn't move. And within minutes, there were violent screams and wails from their end of the house. Apparently TM had had a bad day too. I managed to pry myself out of bed and totter on pain-pierced feet down the hall, collapsing across the end of the littler pirates' bed. I pulled the door shut and announced, "We are all going to sleep now." Oh, how they fussed! I just laid there. The Punkin jumped and bounced and turned acrobatic flips off the walls and onto his brother's head. I moved him over but otherwise just laid there. He howled and complained. "We are going to sleep now," I repeated. And in only 30 minutes, both of the little pirates were unconscious. Truly a miracle. One week down, 14 more to go-- this semester.
And now, really, I am going to sleep too.