Only one thing happy about happy hour
The creator of Happy Hour was most likely a stay at home mom. The time between 4-6 pm are the witching hours. This is the time they decompress from school and transform from the kid you know, into a mess of hot lava, spewing all over the house, causing chaos and pulling their siblings down the path to hell with them. It is the time when having a drink is absolutely necessary to deal with what is being thrown at you.
I guess I should have seen it coming. Both #2 & #3 had rough days at school. Their daily logs ridden with points of bad behavior. You can always tell when #2 has rough days at school because he melts at the thought of anyone viewing the log book. I gave the boys some time to decompress and play until #1 got home. I set the girls up in my room to watch a movie on my ipad so I could work with #1 and prepare him for his tests this week. When I asked #2 to do his homework, he erupted into a screaming, whining, volcano. #1, is particularly sensitive when the other kids are crying, and started to wail. #3 then announced he wasn't doing anything either and gave the pout face. Just freaking shoot me. I sent #3 to his room, #2 to time-out and #1 ran off crying. Dinner. I can make dinner now, since no one is cooperating at all.
I made a gluten free pasta for #2 and the kids ate it, but #3 wanted nothing but canned pineapple. Ok, sure. whatever you want. No one is screaming. We made it through dinner and just when I thought we had transitioned out of the muck, we were sucked back into the vortex.
I was working with #1 on his test prep. He is in fourth grade and mainstreamed in everything but language arts. We have to help him to make sure he doesn't fall behind grade level. #2 walks in and sits in the dining room, showing me he is not doing any of his homework. When asked to do his work, he melts again, which sets off #1 and he runs off. I send #2 to his room to join #3 who was sent there earlier for scribbling on his work as a form of protest. #2 was working his way up the stairs screaming, and then #1 makes a battle charge at him, screaming "aaaaahhhhh" up until he tackles #2. Where is my ref whistle? It would've been easier to be a WWE referee. Just shoot me. "Mommy, I have to go Pee-pees," announces one of the twins, "come with me." I break up the brawl, hold court with the peeing princess and decide to bathe #3 since I could still hear #1 screaming downstairs. It was only six o'clock.
#3 decided not to cooperate for bath until I put him in fully dressed. By the time the bath was complete, the twins were still watching their show and #1 had stopped screaming, so I went back downstairs to help him prepare for his test. #2 resurfaced, still unwilling to do any work, melted again and said enough to have his computer taken away for several days and was sent back to bed. #1 vanished again, though I could still hear him screaming throughout the house. So, I got the girls ready for their bath. It's happy hour or I need a freaking drink to get through the next couple of hours. Because, right now my friend Vodka is the only thing that will prevent me from losing my shit. V8 has two grams of protein and fiber. Add Some vodka, it is the perfect combination.
The evening got a bit better when my husband got home after 7. He was able to deal with #2 and help the twins to bed. I was just glad the night was over and it didn't take half the bottle to get me through.
I thought the morning would prove to be a new day, but lucky for me, it was just a carry-over from the night before. But this time, the twins decided it was their turn to join #2 on the journey to hell.
"You're the meanest mom, you won't get any presents for mother's day or your birthday," #2 said. I'm ok with that. Can't have a bloody Mary before the gym. That would be bad. One kid costs over two hundred grand to raise, not including college. What the fuck was I thinking. I would've been on some tropical island set up with a very nice condo with a pool boy. I wish someone had the talk with me a long time ago, "Now Shari, you have a choice, a nice easy life with nice weather and esthetics or suffering at the hands of your offspring". Wow, that would be a hard choice indeed.
The chaos that is my life. Mornings are extremely hard. Try imagining getting five kids dressed, fed, brushed, backpacked, with shoes and coats out the door. It is maddening. It is only when the boys are dropped off at school can the girls fully express their whining uninterrupted. It is a moment I look forward to. That is until, the boys come home again and we start the cycle all over again.
I wonder if the two hundred grand per kid includes the vodka. For my sake, I will pretend it does.