Thank God it's Monday

I never thought I'd say this, but thank God it's Monday. I'm sitting here this morning with a cup of coffee at my side and a napping baby on my chest, and all I can think about is how quiet it is. The kind of quiet you can only really appreciate after being immersed in the din of frenetic activity for several days. The kind of quiet that allows you to hear your own thoughts again. The kind of quiet that settles after a very active 3-year-old--one who was house-bound for several days due to a blizzard--returns to preschool.

S's first look at the snow Saturday morning

Now for those of you whose kids have school cancelled again today, please don't hate. I truly, truly feel for you. But S's school happens to be open and for this tired mama, it's not a moment too soon.

Don't get me wrong. We had some fun the last few days. We played with playdoh, we dressed up in funny costumes, we had a dance party, we built a train track... the only problem is that we did each of those things for a total of five minutes. You see, these days, S has the attention span of a hyperactive poodle, and so each of these activities require that much more time be devoted to preparation and clean-up than to the thing itself.

Yes, we even did five minutes of this.

So this is how it typically goes: We introduce the next activity with great gusto, like "let's decorate our cousins' Valentine's Day cards with all these stickers!" S happily agrees. Activity commences. S puts one sticker on one card. S's eyes begin to glaze over. S rests her little chin on her hand. S decides that the five-minute activity is over.

Now S is back to acting like a bored teenager, flouncing on the couch and moaning, "I don't know what to plaaay with." Really? We have dozens of toys piled up on our living room floor, and nothing looks good to you? Ok, well, let me scramble to get this arts-and-crafts disaster cleaned up and then we can try to entertain you again.

But in the meantime, while our defenses are down, S starts doing something naughty instead, like removing dirt from my potted plants, climbing onto the dining table, or sticking all of her baby sister's pacifiers in her mouth. And so we end up scolding her, and she ends up crying hysterically, all before we can clean up the five-minute activity. The one we began with such good intentions.

Sigh. I guess that's what life with a three-year-old is like sometimes. Mama J can attest to that, and I'm sure some of you can, too. And so for all of you sharing your homes with irrational, overactive little people--perhaps ones, like mine, who insisted that her tummy hurt this morning and the only thing that would make it feel better were chocolate chips--I'm wishing you one thing today.

Quiet.