The Day of Rest

For most people Sunday begins around 7 or 8am. Maybe even later if they don’t have children or have children who are inclined to sleep in. For me, Sunday began around 2am. That’s when the Gort found his way over to my bed and announced ‘I’m thirsty’.

So I stumbled down the stairs to get some water for the dehydrated lad. Who proceeded to lie down in my bed. I gave him a cup of water, watched him drink it and dismissed him. ‘Okay, back to bed!’ I ordered. ‘But I like snuggling with you,’ he attempted to manipulate me. ‘There’s no room,’ I decided. Mostly because I was so tired I just wanted to fall asleep without someone patting or breathing in my face.

‘Here’s an idea’, he started – the way he starts nearly all negotiations these days. ‘I’ll get out, so you can get in.’

He promptly got out and I thought I was home-free. Except I’d misunderstood. He intended for me to get in and lie next to his dad, so he could get in after me. Leaving me sandwiched between the two gents.

There were several more awakenings before the sun rose: a pacifier recovery mission for the Hen and two recovery missions and a feeding for the baby. By the time 7 rolled around I was more tired than when I’d gone to bed eight hours earlier.

So the professor was in charge of the two oldest boys until such time as I was ready to emerge from my bedchamber. But he’s a bit lax in actually keeping the boys downstairs, away from my room, so I can sleep.

Which is why, shortly before 8, I heard a series of footsteps – up the stairs and in the hallway approaching my room. Next thing I knew someone had switched on the lamp next to my bed.

‘We need you to play (Animal) Rummy with us, because Daddy is very very mean’ my oldest announced. His two year old brother was standing beside him.

I was too tired to decline the request, or inquire about the father-son arguing I’d heard several minutes earlier, so I shuffled the cards and dealt five to each player. Hoping the game would be over quickly so I could catch a few more minutes of sleep.

The game did end quickly. Because ‘someone’ got mad that his brother got a certain animal card and he didn’t, so he threw his cards in a pile, announced that he wouldn’t play anymore, and left.

Bummer.

When we got home from church around noon, it was time to make lunch. The boys were seated at the table waiting for their food. ‘He doesn’t like me….he’s not being nice to me,’ our oldest tattled on his middle brother. ‘Well, you don’t have to sit by him,’ I replied, distractedly, in an effort to prevent further arguing. He took my advice (too much) to heart. Next thing I knew, he was carrying a small table up the stairs – from the basement.

His own personal dining table; which he placed in the kitchen. Where he proceeded to eat his lunch, alone.

After lunch I began another installment of my New Year’s cleaning frenzy. I gave the Gort a job: to go through all of the markers and make sure they’re still working and have the right lids on them. He discovered three ‘lemons’ and I dumped those in the trash.

I charged the professor – who was extremely busy watching the Vikings’ game on his laptop – with removing the baby’s bouncy seat cover. Which necessitated the dismantling of said bouncy seat. (Which explains why said cover has not been laundered ‘recently’.)

I assigned the Gort a second job: basement clean-up. ‘Why don’t you find a job for yourself to do?’ he suggested. Our oldest’s impertinence caused the professor to snicker silently, until he saw the arch of my right eyebrow. At which point he immediately began to mutter something about how ‘mommy works harder than anyone…’ and what a delicious lunch I’d made. Etc.

So, to recap:

What I did this weekend: Cook, Laundry, Clean, Grocery Shopping

What the Gort did this weekend: Play, Test Markers

What the professor did this weekend: Dismantle Bouncy Seat, Watch Football

It sure is tough being a guy.

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