There was also a time when coming home at the end of the day meant that the hard work was done and that all that was left between you and a great night’s sleep was a little TV time, dinner, and, well, bed.
And then we had kids. All of a sudden 5pm means the day is about to start all over again. And as all parents know, the hardest day at work is always easier than the easiest evening with little kids. You have to convince cranky tired kids that they should eat their healthy(ish) dinner, drink their milk, keep their clothes on, then take their clothes off. There’s bath time, its very own form of parental torture, what with the “I don’t want to take a bath!”, “Noooo don’t wash my hair!”, “Don’t get the water in my eyes!”, “Owww the water got in my eyes!”, and of course “Nooooo, I don’t want to get out!”
Once they’re clean you have to dress them again and brush their hair, and then if you’re like us, you get to strap a mask to their face and force medication into their lungs to ensure that they breathe easily through the night. (Yay asthma!) Finally at long last you read them a short story and plop them in their beds and turn out the light and after three or ten visits to the potty you just might hear the sweet sounds of soft sleepy sighs. After all that, if you have any energy left you drag yourself into the kitchen to see what you can scrounge up for your own dinner.
Weekends are kinda like that, times a bajillion million more exhausting. Some Saturdays I’ll have gone through my entire arsenal of tricks to keep them entertained by 10am. And M usually lets me sleep in until 9*, so that’s saying a lot.
Forget T.G.I.F., around here we celebrate T.G.I.M.
*We tag team on the weekends. He gets up and has breakfast with the kids. When I get up, he goes back to sleep.
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