Yesterday, I woke up at 5:45 a.m. as planned but was exhausted after a night filled with mucous and mouth breathing. I don't like mucous, don't like sleeping with Kleenexes stuffed up one nostril, don't like not being able to get comfortable because the cat insists on sleeping between my legs. That last part is a regular occurrence and has nothing to do with mucous and/or mouth breathing. In a way, I was glad that Luisa was in Zambia because I could use the entire bed to flail around and not sleep in. If she reads this she'll probably be glad she wasn't here too...because of the flailing and the Kleenex/nostril situation and the fact that I slept in my socks. I dragged myself into the bathroom and used the neti pot which is different from the potty though I used that as well. Not at the same time, however. I'm just not that coordinated. I then went downstairs to make coffee and remembered that I had set it the night before and, if I could have made out with myself for thinking of that...I still wouldn't have (see previous description of my appearance and general health). At some point during my first cup of coffee, I decided to call in sick to work to sleep. This lifted my spirits which were quickly dashed upon the rocks when my son bounded down the stairs an HOUR before he usually gets up. He then sat on the couch and watched me drink coffee. I told him to go to bed and he said "no" because he wanted to be with me and I said that I loved him very much but didn't want to be with him and then he guilt tripped me and said he'd be quiet and then I said "but you can't be quiet" and then he assured me that he could and then spent the next hour proving himself wrong.
I did manage to get the kids ready and to school without losing my patience despite the fact that they argued over who had to brush teeth first and I wanted to bang their heads together so there were no more teeth to brush. After I dropped them off, I came home and slept and, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, it was time to pick them up which only proves that sometimes time flies when you are not having fun.
After we returned home, I realized that crabbiness is one of my superpowers. I won't bore you with the details because I've already bored you with so many details. Let's just say that I was not a shining example of motherhood. I did make fajitas though so there is that.
Shortly after our fajitas, the children retired to the back room to tickle each other and do loud annoying things. I could hear the giggling. I could hear things escalate. I warned them to calm down and told them that it would end badly. They shrieked in joy and told me that they were having fun. Five minutes later, Miguel began to scream and cry. Zeca rushed into the living room to present her defense (an admirable performance - holding her allegedly injured hand while explaining that Miguel had bent her finger back). Miguel rounded the corner sobbing and threatened Zeca's life before informing me that Zeca had choked him out and then punched him in the face. Zeca then burst into tears. I told them that I didn't want to hear the explanations and told them to go to their rooms. They ignored me and chose to sob/yell/argue with each other. I then yelled with the authority of James Earl Jones and the volume of a concert loud speaker "GO TO YOUR ROOMS!" And they did.
Eventually, I allowed them to come down and they did a dramatic re-enactment of the incident for me. It turns out that Miguel did twist Zeca's fingers (to get out of the choke hold) and Zeca did punch Miguel in the face. Case closed.
Somehow, we all survived the evening.
This morning, I woke up refreshed-ish. Maybe Day 2 will be the low point of this single-parenting gig. Yes? No? Maybe? Please.