a very spooky tale

I have a scary story for you, since it was just Halloween and all...

This past weekend... my husband... left me alone... with the kids... for two-and-a-half-days.

Honestly I DO NOT understand how all you single ladies (and gents) do it. Maybe, maybe, if mothering was the ONLY thing I had to do, I could be pretty decent at it. But add to that lawyering, wife-ing, having sex and grown-up conversations on occasion, bills, chores, dry-cleaning, grocery shopping, trying to complete basic daily tasks like keeping everyone fed and bathed and de-loused and up-to-date on their shots, as well as maintaining a habitable abode that does not alert CPS and the like... Not to mention my kids' particular requirements like Nightly Moth Massacre, Grape Peeling, Anticipating-What-Effing-Color-Of-Cup-You-Want-Today-Right-This-Very-Second (Hint: it's NOT that one), Perfect-Pasta-Buttering, Bite-Sized-Lettuce-Chopping, Sock-Seam-Eradication, Five-Point-Harness-Latching-WAIT-NO-TAKE-IT-OFF-I-WANNA-DO-IT-MYSELF (EVEN THOUGH I CANNOT, PHYSICALLY, DO IT MYSELF), Hide-and-Seek-in-the-Same-Location-Forty-Seven-Times, Feigning Surprise Forty Seven Times, Doing The Thing and Not Doing The Thing Simultaneously (e.g. Braiding The Hair Without Touching The Hair), Drawing Baths of Exactly 99.2 Eegrees Fahrenheit, Magical Laundering of Favorite Shirts and Blankies Before They Are Missed, Cleaning Pee Off ALL OF THE THINGS (seriously, how did you even get pee there?) ALL OF THE TIME (I can't decide who's worse - 4 year old boy or 4 month old puppy), Making Things Happen With My Mind (like new episodes of Wally Kazam on demand), Performing Dramatic Musical Numbers/Open Mic/Freestyle Rapping/Various Circus Acts Upon Request... and so on and so forth.

I know people do this ALL THE TIME. But I can't do it alone. I just can't. My mind is seriously BOGGLED by single parents, military wives/husbands, etc. BLOWN AWAY. I may have mentioned before this phenomenon my cousin once pointed out, about how we become so reliant on our significant other in the daily dance of parenting, but when we are forced to fly solo we get these superpowers and just handle shit like a boss, because, hey, these grapes ain't peelin' themselves. Well, this is still true. For like 8 hours, max. After that it's the point of diminishing returns. It's good to know you have the ability to lock it up when you need to, but it's so much nicer to know that if/when you can't, there's someone there to pick up the slack.

It's not all terrible, of course. Sometimes I look at my children and think, "What lovely laughing little miracles they are, how lucky am I to be their mother?" And other times I think "Is immaculate conception with the devil a thing?" This weekend was more of the latter. The kids have been sick for three weeks. I've been sick for two weeks and 6 days. The dog doesn't like to walk on grass, and uses the carpet as grass instead. In addition, she has consumed $200 of footwear in the past 72 hours. I don't know how to work the television, and, apparently, my son does not like my face and would like to have a mother that is not me. Let's just say it was a rough weekend.

There were a couple of bright spots, like our time at the Children's Museum - a glorious two hour cease fire of the incessant screaming, fighting, whining and crying. And the sweetest/saddest moment where Colby insisted on bringing a photo of our old Blue on a hike with the new pup Feta "so Bwue won't get sad we went wifout her." (She's actually insisted on sleeping with pics of Blue the last couple of nights, too! *Tears.*)

Colby, Jack, and "Our Dog That is Not Dead," Feta
Not Pictured: Photograph of "Our Dog That is Dead," Blue

But the rest of the time? Goodnight Irene, as my grandmother would say. We all felt like shit. I dosed the kids with baby Tylenol and I was popping these babies like Tic Tacs:

"Back Pain-Off," with NSAIDs, Acetaminophen and Caffeine
Nabbed this at work. It's a tiny bit like magic.

Here is my increasingly desperate and insane thought process beginning Sunday night:

6:00pm: Oh thank God it's almost over. One good thing about Daylight Savings - I can get the kids to bed earlier. I'm usually not one for drinking alone, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I've earned it. Come to Mama.

A romantical evening with me, myself, and I.
It's not drinking alone if your kids are home. That's a thing, right?

7:00pm: Ain't nobody got time for white wine and strawberries. Shit just got serious. Time to bring in the big guns.

Warning: They sell It's-Its in 12-packs

8:01pm: Fucket.

I'm just kidding. I didn't actually take Nyquil. That shit turns me into a straight tweaker.
On a side note, why don't they sell Theraflu anymore? All I can ever find is the generic CVS brand called Flu-Off or whatever. Anyway, me and Flu-Off had a moment.

8:30am: How on God's green earth did we wake up at 6am and still not manage to get out of the house on time?

"extra" hour my ass.
source

And of course we wouldn't forget to leave a love note for Daddy upon his return:

Naturally, by lunch time on Monday I was wistfully flipping through photos of the little beasties on my phone, my heart expanding with maternal love. Four hours is all it takes for total momnesia to set in. Motherhood, or Stockholm Syndrome? You tell me.

Of course, I didn't miss them enough to cancel my long-overdue post-work-pedi, or make any move to assist DM when he was being tortured by shrieking pygmies at bath time. Let's be real. This one's all you, buddy! You got this! After all, I wouldn't want to interfere with the development of his SuperDad powers!

I will say. If I ever only have 72 hours to live, I'll be sure to spend it alone with small children, so it'll seem like it lasts FOREVER ;)