We ski on, in the summer we hike on Sundays, and neither are as tiring as Sundays at home.
80- number of times I climbed atoday. Am convinced these kids sit up at night thinking of ways to get me to climb stairs. Whatever they need me to get, I can be sure it’s on a floor that I’m not.
6 – number of meals I served, none of which I sat down to eat.
5 – times I ran the dishwasher
5 – spilled drinks I mopped up, or slipped in
4 – band aids applied
4 – ditto, for ice packs
3 – meltdowns (mine not included)
2 – number of children still awake, even though I tried explaining that my maternal instincts switched off about 30 minutes ago, and they’d be wise to scram.
Even though I could barely stand up straight I agreed to read to the boys before bed. We’re reading about Charlemagne, Ruler of the Holy Roman Empire
(hold your applause, please). They’ve been playing what they think is a really hysterical game with poor old Charlemagne. I read about all his remarkable achievements, which included uniting what is now Italy, France, and Germany, and they do the following: Every time I read the word “Lombard” (a region of Italy), they holler, VINCE LOMBARDY!! Apparently he has something to do with football. They scream with laughter, and one of them then rattles off a useless factoid about him, which is neither interesting nor likely to be true.
Then, each time I read the word “unite” (which comes up a lot), the other one shrieks, JOHNNY UNITAS!!!! Another useless football player, no doubt, but by this time both boys are truly pissing themselves with laughter. Even though they can surely not hear me, I continue to read. I then threaten to leave. They then beg me to stay and I continue on, skipping all references to Lombard and finding as many euphemisms for “unite” as possible, which isn’t as easy as you think.
Then, they both start yelling out questions: “Where in Italy was he?” (Not as dumb as I look), “What was Charlemagne famous for” (I refuse to fall for it), or “What’s a better word for bringing people together?” (Not gonna do it).
I barely manage to finish the chapter and then crawl out their room. Instead of reading them into submission, and then sleep, I have succeeded only in riling them up. As I leave, a plastic football hits me on the side of my head.
Damn you Johnny Unitas, whoever you are.