Precious little hands a la crazy polish requests
For the working mom (aka, me, who will work until such time as I win Lotto or find a different way to provide for my minions) weekends are particularly precious. You have two full days of being with the kids, the dog, maybe a husband. You know the time is previous and even when you want, nay, NEED sleep you tend to ignore it to enjoy the time with the rugrats and keep them from self-destruction.
And yet, it is such a weird thing: kids have no concept of time at that age, and throw themselves completely into everything. Today I painted my daughter’s nails (she wanted stripes), ran around with a baby hanging off me trying to get ready to go to a parade, came home from that parade and blew up the kiddie pool. My husband and I tag-teamed on watching the mermaid and putting the baby to sleep. It’s a giant juggling match to fit as much in as possible, complicated somewhat by the fact that the kiddos feel no sense of urgency whatsoever and have to be half-dragged away from whatever has caught their attention at that moment. We run, we play, we laugh, we splash, we cuddle.
But the biggest takeaways are the amazingly cool things they do. Today I got to listen to my daughter tell me she wanted to hug the Darth Vader from the parade and later watch the ridiculous faces of my little son as he covered himself in red popsicle (and listen to the subsequent scream from his first brain freeze). I live for these moments.
There is a downside. So rushed and intent am I on spending time with the kids (and assuaging the guilt I feel from spending so much time away during the week) that I rarely get much done in the way of preparation for the next week, cleaning, gardening, or any of the other things you probably need to make a household run smoothly. My house is a mess and you could get lost in my closet. I need to do work-work in preparation for the work-week ahead, and get the floors clean, and nothing happens unless I stay up late at night or drag myself up at 4 a.m. I don’t get how those other moms do it: have clean houses, ordered minds, and clothes without sticky shoulder handprints. Maybe I need some kind of organizational rehabilitation program?
Basically, I am a hot mess in desperate need of a few extra hours a day and 3 arms. Can anyone tell me where to find them…?
The Mischief of Minions 