Who does one complain to about the clocks changing? What exactly is this policy and why are we forced to comply? This time change used to be the one I looked forward to–before children, that is. You know, that extra hour for sleeping in? Post-children, I spend a couple of days every year walking around glassy-eyed and frantic from lack of sleep, because BABIES CANNOT READ CLOCKS!!! Neither can almost-six-year-olds. CJ woke at 4:52, by the clock. I managed to keep him in bed for a full hour with lots of nursing, but by 5:52 he was climbing me and Kevin and grunting and playing and having a blast. Kevin kindly got up with him. Somewhere around 6:3oish, AB started shouting, wondering when she could get up. That was the tenor of our morning. And we can now look forward to exhausted children who are staying up an extra hour in the evenings, but waking at the same body-time in the mornings. For at least a few more days. And for what? Remind me? I know, I know, early birds like the morning sunshine; but I like walking home from school while it’s still light out.
Wow. That was not how I’d planned to start my blog. Guess it’s good to get the complaints over with first. Moving on …
We had such a wonderful weekend. The trip to Kevin’s mom’s was not exactly easy (driving late in the evening after the kids had binged on their Halloween candy, and after a full and long week), but once we’d arrived, we were able to relax and not do much of anything. I napped for about two straight hours on Saturday. Kevin and I slept in both mornings, while Grandma Alice managed the four children. It felt luxurious–was luxurious. The kids planted bulbs at Grandpa Jim’s grave. They went for walks. Did I mention all the nothing that I did? Seriously. Nothing. It was the holiday my body and mind had been craving. We buzzed home yesterday, the kids watched movies, CJ played in his car seat (!!!), and at suppertime we stopped at Ben Than (sp?) on the way home, just ducked off at the Cambridge exit and treated ourselves. Of course, Kevin and I spent most of dinner in the bathroom with one child or another, but hey. That’s what makes life interesting. Or something like that. Actually, I’m not sure that “waiting around in bathroom stalls with small children” belongs with the descriptive “interesting,” but it amused Kevin and me to compare notes afterward. If we’d had a stopwatch on the amount of time we’d spent sitting at the table and the amount of time we’d spent hanging around the bathrooms, likely bathrooms would have won. While I was in there with Angus (for the second time), the music system in the restaurant went on the fritz and we were treated to the very loud sounds of a CD skipping through eternity, stuck on the same two notes. This had a very trippy effect in the dimly-lit echoing chilly space that reminded me vaguely of hell’s waiting room (not that I’ve ever been there; just guessing here).
Must stop writing. I’m in tangent-brain. And it’s almost storytime.