So, yeah.... The day didn't get any better. I was on the verge of tears several times today. There wasn't any one part that was particularly bad, but all of it was wearing on me. Plus, I must be hormonal, because I can tell I'm being moody toward Paul, and short with the kids, but I just don't care.
Zadie slept a total of less than an hour all day, and that was in two parts, so it wasn't even a stretch of productiveness. I did get half a load of laundry folded and the rest of the Christmas decorations put out while she entertained herself (I needed the empty tote to take to Sam's Club tomorrow). Jacob woke up from his nap whiny and sick-ish. I had to install all 3 car seats in the van before we left, and I couldn't get the L.A.T.C.H. system to work on Zadie's, so was wrestling with that for what seemed like 15 minutes - meanwhile I can hear Zadie inside screaming because she is so tired, even though I had tried nursing, rocking, everything for the previous two hourst. I came in from the carseat debacle and Jacob still hadn't touched his supper, so we had the meal time showdown, while Zadie continued to scream. Jacob ended up going to Cubbies, but not allowed to play or participate until he ate his supper (which he never did). I didn't get a chance to prepare for the lesson, and we were one teacher short, and Zadie still wasn't asleep, so I didn't get a chance to study after we got there and ended up just reading it from the lesson book, which the kids totally zoned out during. Paul did come get the kids after work, so I didn't have to wrangle them out the door and into the van, but when I came home, the house was a disaster (just like I left it), and Zadie - who had fallen asleep on the way home - was awake again. An hour later, she still wanted nothing to do with sleep, so I put her in her crib and walked away. She screamed bloody murder. I can't even begin to relax while listening to that, so I started banging things around in the kitchen. Paul figured out pretty quickly that I must have been upset (I hate cleaning the kitchen) because he jumped up and started trying to help, and ended up going upstairs to rock her because he couldn't stand listening to her anymore. When he came down, he flipped off the light in the kitchen, thinking I had put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and I was done. "No, I'm not done. I'm not going to get a chance to clean the kitchen tomorrow, and if I don't clean it tomorrow, it won't get cleaned all weekend, so just go to bed without me."
Did I mention I was moody? That may be an understatement.
I am definitely not one of those people that thinks doing dishes is therapeutic, but the end result is. In the chaos of the rest of the house, the kitchen is all clean and gleaming. And it gives me hope for the rest of the house. And when my house is organized, it makes me feel like life is a little more organized as well.
If she sleeps......