30 minutes. That’s all I asked for. 30 minutes to turn on my laptop (without someone standing there to turn it back off, or push random keys, or shut it), close my bedroom door, knock out an article due tomorrow, and peruse some job postings. 30. Freaking. Minutes. David was home from school, I put him in “charge.”
I didn’t even get five. Justin and Alex thought it would be funny to just “sneak” in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, throw things against the door. Antagonize the dog. Cameron couldn’t find the Go-Gurt. I tried in vain to work on something, but the distractions were too many. So I got pissed and just tried to close my eyes for a few minutes.
When I came out maybe 15 minutes later, all the cushions were taken off of the couch. Half a box of Cheez-Its, three granola bars, all but one Go-Gurt, and an apple had been consumed. Most of the wrappers were on the kitchen counter. (Who in the hell ate the apple? Was there some other kid in the house too?) Penny had eaten two pencils, and had chewed up a toy.
I had planned on making Rice-Krispie treats with the kids, one of the stay-at-home-mom feats of strength I’ve never been able to master, but nixed that idea, not that it had any impact whatsoever. I was going to make chicken-fried steak for dinner, which everyone wanted. Didn’t do that either. I think the only one who cared was David. I still did make dinner, of course everyone complained because there were broccoli and carrots and peppers and mushrooms contaminating their stir-fry rice noodles.
Naturally Alex fell asleep on the couch as soon as I stopped speaking to everyone, and after Barry got home from work, then slept through dinner, and will probably now be up until midnight because the kid keeps ridiculous hours.
Barry had agreed to my escape to Starbucks to get some work done, but first David had swimming, and before that had a conniption over a Wii controller. While they were gone it was bath time, then Barry and David had to eat dinner when they got back, then a run to Kwik Trip because he’d promised Justin a pack of gum. So by the time all was said and done, it was already 8:00, and I only have until 9:30 before Starbucks closes, and I had a lot more to get done, but don’t want to bother starting anything because by the time I get going on it, I’ll get booted out of here, so here I am writing this.
What is wrong with my children? And what is wrong with me that I put up with this shit day after day? My youngest is four years old. In theory I should be able to sit my ass down for an hour or two a day without someone getting mad at me for not painting his toenails the right color, or his brother demanding that I paint his too. Right. Fucking. Now. I took the little bastards to McDonald’s for lunch, bought them what they wanted at the damn grocery store. We were going to make treats, and I told them I’d consider taking them to The Muppets at the $2 theater tomorrow afternoon. Do they appreciate any of it? No. What the hell is their problem? Other than they are four and six…still their heads aren’t skulls full of mush.
What am I even talking about right now? Did I have a point? I can’t even remember, and I’m too lazy to scroll back up top to look. The coffee people are sweeping the floors. I think that’s a hint. The Bible study behind me is starting to wrap up too. If it weren’t so damn bitterly cold out I’d just drive around until I was reasonably certain that everyone would be sleeping when I got home.
But I’m tired. I guess I’ll just head home, lay down with Alex, because I know he’ll be up, and look at things on Pinterest with him. At least we have that in common, looking at dresses and shoes, and paint color schemes together. When I don’t want to feed him to the wolves, anyway.
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2012