A note to read at bedtime

Dear Self,

Tonight, as you lie in your freezing cold bed, reflecting on the day: the kisses that weren't given, hugs that weren't distributed or conversations that weren't finished, guilt will set in.

You will consider how few days you have left with little ones at home and how little of your attention you gave them on this one day. You will be plagued with images from Family Fun and Parent magazines; of all of the great pre-Christmas activities you did NOT do today with the children. You will consider the books not read, the games not played and try to remember whether or not you even fed them.

This note is to tell you to stop!

This is a reminder of why those things weren't done:

The child who is "sick" still has enough energy to run an entire circus act by himself. He pulled out markers, crayons, asked for paper, asked for more paper, told you he was hungry, begged to go outside to play cricket (which like a good Mom you said "No", because he is, after all, sick).

Your daughter is a cyclone alone, but today she had an accomplice. She pulled out puzzles, the Little People barn and farm animals, raced her shopping cart through the house, sold you some pretend ice cream-- £3.oo a scoop-- needed scissors to cut out the tiny spiders she drew on some scrap paper.

As you searched for the kiddie scissors, you suggested she check the Arts & Crafts box in the other room. Big mistake. You then spent 30 minutes trying to get that room tidied back up since she apparently dug through every storage compartment.
You never even made it up to her room today to see what happened in there after she did four clothes-changes.

"Sick" boy wanted a round of "Football" (foosball). With the family champion (who is highly competitive--yes, even with a 7 year-old).  The second game was much closer after you realized it was just as much fun scoring own goals.

They needed to eat a balanced lunch.

You set up a special table for them to eat at. They giggled and threw inedible objects in each other's soup. You then cleaned up the mess and put the little dining area away while the "sick" son declared his boredom and begged to go outside to play cricket (which you of course said, "No" to because he is, after all, sick).

As you baked the treats that are to go with one of the other kids' activity tonight, the two little ones wanted a movie. They didn't like the first one (Frosty) and you had to put in a new one (Rudolf) which was abandoned in less than 15 minutes.
Then they decided they wanted to do Jillian Michael's 30-day shred. Figuring someone should be getting some use out of it, you agreed.
They had to have the weights.
While you got Jillian and the hand weights out of your bedroom, you thanked God for a husband that made the bed this morning-- it had been niggling at you all day as one more thing you'd never get to today.

You put some laundry away-- or tried. The pile made it to the bottom of the stairs where you discovered the mountain of puzzle pieces on the bathroom floor.  Your thoughts at that time were, "Awww, forget it" as you headed to the shower. At 2pm.

While in the shower, "sick" son came in. Of course. You haven't had an uninterrupted shower since 1994. 
He wanted to know if he could go outside to play cricket.

As you filled your lungs to belt out the resounding "NO. YOU CAN NOT GO OUTSIDE, YOU ARE SICK" line, something caught your eye--through the tempered glass... sunshine? The sun is shining?

After a detailed description of what he needed to be wearing (similar to Ralphie's brother's going-out-in-the-snow outfit), you told him he could go outside. Sick child was finally free.

The daughter had to go out too. It required another clothes change.

Ten minutes, back in they came. They needed keys for the garage. They were going to play baseball instead.

The sun left. It does that at 3.30.

You still hadn't combed your hair and only had half of your make up on and technically, the day was already over.

2 more kids related to you popped into the house. They wore the smell of the outside world on their clothes. Their cheeks were flushed with freedom. They with were famished from being out in the fresh air with friends. They began trying to sneak the treats finally finished for tonight before even dropping off their backpacks.

So, you started dinner early.

One child was already holding a yogurt. Other children complained. All ate yogurts. It's easier that way.

The table was set.
The dishwasher was unloaded.
The dinner was put on the table, accompanied by a silly game of, "For Christmas dinner I had..." that ranged from ham and turkey to "edible grass".

You did not cut intricate snowflakes with your children today.
You didn't hug and kiss them for hours on end. You never sang carols or read stories about cookie-eating mice. You didn't put on any puppet shows with sock puppets made from the laundry basket or make homemade ice cream sandwiches, because...

THERE AREN'T ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY, that's why.

Now go to sleep and try to do better tomorrow.

P/S You did feed them.
P/SS Try to remember that one day you will look back and laugh at how Miss Ky thought your brand new book of postage stamps was stickers...