Sunday, January 9, 2011

A Little Whine

Argh. Today I am tired. Tired and cranky. Overworked and underpaid. Overwhelmed and under...oh, whatever, you get the idea.

Had a great morning at Machane Yehuda seeing the sights and sounds in Jerusalem. But it's true: When you play, you pay.

When we got home, N was up, R was home from Gan, and shortly after, the rest of the progeny walked through the door. Before I go on, I have to say how much I am getting used to not working. Please don't tell BAW. 

Unemployed? Retired? Lazy? Not sure what category this not working business goes under, but it's nice. Very nice. My quiet time when N naps is usually almost 3 hours in which I can choose to straighten up, do some laundry, clean some bedrooms, have computer time or take a nap. And I missed that today. And now I am cranky.

It didn't help when S walked in the door covered in dirt from head to toe. ("Imma! This looks like poop, I know. But it's not.") Or when J came in and declared she lost her only bathing suit at swimming class today, but of course it's not her fault. (It never is, is it?) Amidst this, A ambles in and asks if he can make an apple crisp. (Because 11 yr. old boys immediately sniff out dinner upon entering the house, and obviously left overs can't be eaten without apple crisp.) But then came the straw. You know what straw I mean. 
B comes barging in and yells that "We have to make cookies for the birthday party tomorrow!" 
Me: "What birthday party? Whose birthday party?"
B: "MINE!"
Me: "But your birthday is not until next week."

B: "But my teacher said we are having the party tomorrow! And all the cookies have to be baked at home! By us!"

Ugh. I am now sitting on the couch. Dinner is done, baths have been given, and 4/6 are off to the Land of Nod. There are no cookies baking in the oven, and I am wishing EEC would make my kids some cookies late at night (Garfield or not, it doesn't really matter) and send 'em on over. I have a parent teacher meeting for R in 1/2 an hour. My throat hurts.

Ok, no more whining. There are cookies to bake. 


E said...

Ha! As I am reading your post, in particular the part about Garfield cookies, the very child that I baked those cookies for is telling me that he never wants to speak to me again and that he is going to live in the basement forever. Good luck, mama. Do you need an easy cookie recipe? As you can guess by our on-going South Beach dieting, we are pro when it comes to baking and eating cookies in this house.

NekudaTova said...

Blargh! Can we never win??? Will mothers ever triumph???