Out of twenty-eight hours, I slept for sixteen, which seems like an awful lot of sleeping, doesn’t it?
Nine of those hours were at night. Two were during one sweet little nap and the rest (if you are keeping track, “the rest” would be five—yes five!—hours) were during another nap of legendary proportions after which I awoke as groggy and disoriented as if I’d been time traveling instead of sleeping.
Apparently I needed sleep.
A mere three hours were devoted to playtime, a sad result of fubar-ed schedules and that dreadful entity known as Real Life. Three hours weren’t nearly enough, but I will not complain.
Two hours went toward vacuuming crushed goldfish crackers from the carpets; dusting grime from horizontal surfaces; cleaning up an exploded diaper from under a crib; and wiping down walls sticky with plum juice, paw prints, hand prints and spaghetti sauce.
Another three hours were spent in a quest to remove every trace of the stb-ex’s possessions from my house. On that day I tackled the garage, which had hardly been touched. I boxed and pitched, pitched and boxed, until only the kids’ things and my things remained.
Then I stumbled upon the coat closet, which I’d forgotten about in all previous purges. I boxed. I pitched. And one more outpost of stb-ex-ishness was vanquished.
I then dragged my weary self upstairs, opened his closet door and peered inside. My stomach did that sinking thing that it does when you are poised at the top of a roller-coaster’s first hill, or when you are contemplating something horrifying.
I shut the door. I could not bring myself to tackle the closet. It’s the last frontier.
Four remaining hours were spent in work, because I have to work and I love to work, but damn who knew that Fleshbotting took so bloody long?
You might wonder why someone who is typically surrounded by very busy small people would plan for herself a weekend packed bursting-full of busy-ness. Wouldn’t it have made more sense, you might wonder, if I’d left at least one small wedge of time to relax, to dream, to stare at the walls, to loaf? Perhaps.
But if I had loafed, my mind would have begun spinning. It would have dwelt on the fact that in the time I’ve been a parent, never have I had the house to myself for twenty-eight hours.
I would have pondered what precisely my little ones were doing as I loafed. Were they fed? Happy? Comfortable? Sleeping?
If I’d loafed, I’d have had time to think about how the stb-ex answered the phone when I called right before bedtime, which was, “Are you calling to gloat?”
No, I told him. I’m calling to say goodnight. Why would I call to gloat, I asked him.
“Because everyone’s been really high-maintenance all afternoon,” he answered in exhaustion. “They were all totally crabby. I’m worn out.”
Some days are like that, I answered. I held myself back from offering to relieve him early.
I spoke briefly to my eldest child, then took myself back to the tasks at hand, leaving no time for loafing or dreaming or worrying.
Definitely better that way.
——
*My apologies to all who received a draft copy of this in their feed readers or email earlier this week. Slippery fingers hit the wrong key and sent it flying away before it was complete.
Sounds like you got a hell of a lot done. And in this, I include getting a little caught up on rest.
Good job.
E
sounds like the perfect way to spend your first weekend alone in fact… purging and sleeping.
can’t think of anything better except a weekend long shagfest and you know what? sometimes purging and sleeping is more necessary for sanity.
the closet can wait for the next bout of twenty eight hours when he has the children right?
A mom. Alone. Working again. I understand. *hugs* Rest when you can. Love when you can. Play when you can.
Work when you must. A new life.
Sounds as if you’re settling to a much more balanced, ordered life. Another nice milestone will arrive when you get shot of the contents of that closet :o)
Sleep is a good thing. Playtime is a good thing. Cleaning is a necessary thing. Sounds to me like you had your priorities well prioritized.
Repeat after me…I cannot be all things to all people…rinse repeat.
Hyp-no-tized
I cannot be all things to all people.
I cannot be all things to all people.
I cannot be all things to all people.
I cannot be all things to all people.
I cannot be all things to all people.
***eyes spinning in head***
Good Wednesday morning to you, AAG.
Good that only the coat closet is left. It’s like an exorcism, and the more he is out of your house, the better your home will feel :)
You held your tongue magnificently, and I am very proud of you for not offering to relieve him ! Well done. You are learning to take care of yourself, and not just rescue him. Bravo !
Sniff – I didn’t make the fleshbot autumn roundup… looks sad and keeps trying to write juicy stuff :)
Loving Annie
The purging sounds good for you. Physically getting all the ex’s stuff out has to provide some closure. And sleep is always a plus!
“Did you call to gloat?”
“DId you just realize how hard I do work when I ‘stay home and do nothing’ all day?”
You got BUSY, lady. Good job! Your mental muscles (how we see our muscles, ya know?) are HUGE right now, aren’t they? :)
See, that logic wouldn’t work.
He’s under the impression that the kids are “good” for me and “bad” for him…which makes his time with them much much worse than my time with them.
:)
He’s an idiot.
AAG:
I’m so impressed. You’re so resourceful!
Mischa.
The Confession of the Panther Woman ©
http://theconfessionofthepantherwoman.blogspot.com
Sex, drugs, and metamorphosis.
Sounds like an excellent weekend, especially the sleeping, playing and purging. Although work can be fun, it’s lower on the list, lol.
Next- the closet, shall we have a blogger packup party? We’ll all come by and help you dump it out! :)
What a kind offer!
:)
AAG, I think you and I have the same stb-ex :) He’s been a busy man.
While I don’t have kids yet, I do have a niece and nephew that I keep from time to time. While they are a lot of fun, they are in constant need of one thing or another. I love to play with them but I cannot help but count the minutes until their bedtime when I can finally relax.