But Jackson is down to just nursing at bedtime, and is (knock, knock, knock on wood) sleeping through the night now, so after he's in bed, my evenings are mine to do with what I please.
Tonight I please to drink me some White Zin mixed with Sierra Mist and ice, thankyouverymuch. I intend to reach Buzz Level One, at least, before I go and assault my husband, who knows nothing of my plan. I should clarify. I do not need alcohol to want to assault my husband. The two events just happen to coincide tonight because, well, quite frankly...it's a fucking miracle that one of us did not strangle a child today. He's not a drinker either but he's already had a Mojito. We need to blow off some steam.
Samantha got up late because we got her to bed late. She got up OK, I guess, not too grumpy or bossy or pushy or snotty. That would come later, trust me. Then her father came home from work at noon, and her brain fell out. She did not find it again today. I am hoping it makes its way back in before morning because I am almost certain none of us can survive another day like today.
We went to the mall for my hair appointment. Greg walks the kids around in the double stroller while I get my only pampering for the month, and usually it goes swimmingly. Today she whined. And whined. And kicked her brother in the back, and pulled his hair. And mouthed off. And talked back. And threw a screaming fit in Sears, I'm told, bellowing "I WANT MY MOMMY!!" over and over and over, while her father looked for a snowblower to crawl under. He was already exhausted by the time I left Regis. "Bye, Jocelyn!" she smiled sweetly, waving and batting her evil-disguised-as-cute eyes at my stylist, certain no one would buy Daddy's story. Nauseating. Greg was at his wits' end already, poor guy. There's a reason I'm home with them all day and not him. He is an incredible father, a truly connected, involved parent, but if he had to handle them 24/7, he WOULD run away and never come back, I'm telling you.
We were so disappointed at Samantha's behavior, and the mall was SO crowded, that instead of having lunch there, we opted to hit Sonic on the way home (yes, I know, not exactly Beach food, but it was an off-day). This was another fit for the throwing, as she had wanted to eat THERE, and so she went ahead and threw the fit. We ignored, went to the van, loaded up. She putzed around, dawdled, didn't get in her seat until she was threatened within an inch of her life, then pouted that the wrong person was buckling her in, as though anyone really gave a rip who she wanted buckling her in. She then kicked my seat until I explained how hard it would be for her to walk without FEET. She stopped.
I needed to make a quick stop for wipes, and Samantha announced that SHE wanted her DADDY to go in and get them, NOT her MOMMY. I once again ignored, told her I would be right back, and went about my task. She seemed better when I came back to the van.
At Sonic, she would scarcely even answer my questions about what she'd like to eat, until I was ready to order. The instant Greg pushed the button...
"Mom! Mom! MOMMY! I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!"
"Thanks for choosing Sonic, I'll be with you in one moment." Fine.
"Samantha, WHAT do you need? I am trying to order food."
She mumbled something about her imaginary friend, or some other such nonsense. Yeah. Ok. We get our food and proceed home, while she and Jackson WHINE all 12 blocks about wanting their slush right NOOOOOOOW. Jackson's sounded like this:
"Eh. Eh! EH! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHH!"
Samantha's was more advanced:
"Mom, can I have my cheh-wee" (cherry) "slush now? ... Mom - CAN I HAVE MY CHEH-WEE SLUSH NOW? ... MOM! MOM!"
Know that I had already explained patiently TWICE that they would get their slush when we got home, but that we were not drinking cherry slush in the van. This is not new info. This is not unusual.
The rest of the day came to pass in much the same fashion. Samantha acting like a pubescent teenager, disagreeing with EVERYTHING we said, antagonizing her brother at every turn, mouthing off with 9 of 10 sentences that exited her mouth, and acting GENUINELY surprised when she was disciplined for doing things she's been asked not to do more times than there are months in her life up til now. Her father and I trying to encourage, diffuse and support one another as we traded off between two kids who were unable to be satisfied or pleased in any way. It was just one of those days. Jackson was the better of the two by far (he is DEFINITELY my favorite today), but he was a handful in his own way, battling another cold, this one with a nasty cough and a sore throat. Joy.
So now, they are both in bed sleeping (they wore themselves out trying to make their parents commit suicide), it is quiet in here, and dammit, I am having a drink. Not even sure why, one drink and I'll have a headache and get sleepy, and about that time one of the kids will get up.
Wait, it's Saturday night...Greg doesn't have to work tomorrow. I think HE can get up if one of them wakes up.
Where's that bottle of wine?