Dear Tony

Dear Tony,

About tonight....

And pretty much the last three months (if not longer) worth of nights.

I have a confession to make. I'm selfish. Or lazy. Or whatever else you want to call it. Not all the time. And sometimes I want to be but I can't. But if you ever wonder why it is that when you come home late from work and things aren't done...that's why. I'm selfish.

Take tonight for example. Tonight I had great plans of baking and cleaning and blogging, possibly a craft or two, but here's how tonight really went.

When I decided to start on my grand plans, suddenly two children came in from playing in the snow and needed snacks. Then the next child decided Lego's needed to be played with. In the kitchen. And while trying to step over the bucket of legos, he misjudged the distance, and instead stepped on the side of the bucket, sending a cascade of lego bits flying through the kitchen.

You'd be proud of me though, I calmly told him to pick them up. Two hours later they were completely picked up and put away...

When those things where taken care of I thought about starting on my wonderful plans again- and a whole blog post was written! Then the baby was hungry. Again. So I fed him.

Then it was dinner time. The homemade pizza I've been planning on making for the last three days got put on back burner, again, because by the time the baby was done nursing there was no way I could get it done quickly enough to feed your starving older children. Soup it was. I tried to make half of it with a baby on my hip, but then decided I needed to put him down and asked Emma to rock him in the swing. She's quite the handy little thing because she got him to sleep! Hooray! Maybe my plans would come true!

We sat down and ate. Four spills and a bizzillion refills later we where done. As we where cleaning up Fox dropped the bowl and spoon holding avocados. They splattered everywhere. He looked at me, and causally said, "You're going to have to clean that up too,"  then turned and walked away. That's when the baby started crying.

Don't worry, I didn't kill anyone. I didn't even yell or cry. I cleaned up the mess with the baby on my hip, and with the help of the kids managed to get the dishes done. Hooray!

But my hopes of accomplishing my plans where dashed because the baby was hungry. Again. So I fed him.

Then it was time for the bed time routine.

I think I have something wrong with my brain. I can't manage to say anything right. Tonight I told the kids, "go get your---brushed teeth," and "I think you have clean pj's in the dishwasher," and "Get that--washer thing--to wash this up," because I couldn't think of the word washcloth.

Or maybe it's because I have to say things 12 times before anyone listens to me, so my brain decides to make a game out of it...In one such instant after I had managed to spit out, "Go brush your teeth" six times, Liam finally stood up and mumbled to himself, "I never get to do anything I want." Then stomped in to brush his teeth.

 I didn't even flip out. He was finally doing what I asked. And the other kids followed him, so I took it as a win.

Finally after several books, a bizzillion-million-trillion questions, and a few magic tricks your three oldest are in bed, and your youngest sits on my lap chewing on my wrists, as I try to type, and only whines occasionally.  I think he's hungry. Again.

Anyways, the reason for this letter is so that when you come home and see splatters of avacado on the outside of the trash can, thats because I missed them. And when you look in the dishwasher and it looks like the dishes have been thrown in there by a six year old, they have been. And the laundry thats sat in our front room for the last two days, waiting to be folded, it's still going to sit there. Because I'm done. I'm selfish and I'm done.

So now I'm going to take this adorable, chunky, slobbery piranha, nurse him -again- and put him to bed. And then I'm going to sit on the couch and watch a show, or read, or zone, because now its my time.

But don't worry, I'll start on my great plans of baking, cleaning, ect tomorrow.

Love your still sane wife,
              Kira