I really hate the day after a party.
Not because the party was bad.
The party was great.
My son turned five. His friends came over. There were trucks, cake, paint, thunderstorms, and enough screaming and laughter to permanently alter my hearing.
The kids had a freaking blast.
But the day after?
The day after, I would like to do absolutely nothing.
Unfortunately, I have children.
And my six-year-old daughter woke up the next morning apparently fully recovered from the festivities.
I tried to sleep in.
I really did.
I woke up approximately six different times, but I had made my intentions very clear the night before:
Please. Let. Mom. Sleep.
Eventually, I gave up.
And there she was.
Fully operational.
Ready for another day.
Like, okay Mom, what’s on the agenda today?
Ma’am.
The agenda?
Are we going skydiving?
Building a whole new shop?
Perhaps purchasing another toy that will be fascinating for approximately 30 seconds before being abandoned forever?
To be clear, she wasn't actually asking for any of those things.
She was asking completely reasonable six-year-old questions.
Mom, can I have something to eat?
Mom, I'm thirsty.
Mom, will you read to me?
Mom, can we play?
Mom, can we do a craft?
Sweet.
Reasonable.
Normal.
And every single request was somehow met internally with:
Kid. You just had friends over yesterday. It was a whole thing. Chill the the beans!
I Would Like to Do Absolutely Nothing
Here's the problem.
When I say I want to do absolutely nothing, I don't actually mean nothing.
I wish I did.
My version of “nothing” apparently includes cleaning the house after the party.
Laundry.
Emails to doctors.
Emails to therapists.
Preparing for upcoming IEP meetings.
Preparing for my own doctor's appointment, which is long overdue.
Cleaning something else because somehow there is always something else.
Basically, my relaxing day still comes with administrative duties.
I just wanted to complete one of them without hearing:
“Mom?”
Again.
And again.
And again.
There are few things more effective at summoning a child than a mother attempting to concentrate on something.
Sit on the couch doing nothing?
Nobody needs you.
Open an important email?
MOM.
Try to fill out paperwork?
MOM.
Attempt to scan something?
Someone has suddenly developed a crisis involving a snack, a missing object, or a sibling looking at them incorrectly.
Nothing is actually wrong.
Everything is apparently urgent.
The Cruel Difference Between Kid Energy and Mom Energy
This is what I don't understand.
These children attended the same party I did.
They ran around.
They screamed.
They painted.
They played.
They stayed up later than usual.
And somehow the next morning they woke up ready to report for duty.
Meanwhile, I woke up feeling like I had personally constructed the house the party took place in.
My daughter is ready for enrichment.
She would like a book.
Perhaps a craft.
Maybe an outing.
Some quality mother-daughter bonding.
I would like to sit on the couch and stare at a wall, until I have recharged and we will sit and cuddle.
We are at an impasse.
She's Not Doing Anything Wrong
And that's the annoying part.
Because underneath my irritation, I know she's not doing anything wrong.
She's six.
She wants her mom.
She wants me to read to her and play with her and help her get a snack.
She isn't responsible for knowing that Mom's internal battery is flashing red.
And I usually have a pretty deep reserve of patience for my kids.
That's actually part of why days like this have started getting my attention.
Because lately, I'm tired.
Not just I threw a birthday party yesterday tired.
Tired in a way that feels different.
I'm active. I exercise. I eat well. I take care of everyone and everything that needs taking care of.
But my energy isn't what it used to be.
And when my energy disappears, sometimes my patience seems to disappear right along with it.
That's one of the reasons I finally made the doctor's appointment I've been putting off.
Not because being annoyed when your child says “Mom” for the 4,738th time makes you a terrible mother.
I think that just makes you a mother.
But I know myself.
And lately, I don't quite feel like myself.
I swear if i hear “ Mom, I am hungry…” one more time i am having her wat dirt, i fed her not 5 seconds before that, also she is not hungry she is dehydrated.
Today's Agenda
So, my darling six-year-old, since you asked what we're doing today, here is the official agenda:
We are not going skydiving.
We are not building a shop.
We are not embarking on an educational adventure.
We are not doing anything that requires Mom to put on real pants.
You may have food.
You may have water.
I will even read you a book.
But yesterday, Mom threw your brother a fifth birthday party during a severe thunderstorm.
Today?
Today we are practicing an important life skill.
Doing absolutely nothing.
Or, at least, Mom's version of nothing.
Which apparently still includes laundry, paperwork, doctors, therapists, IEPs, meals, snacks, children, and approximately 46 interruptions.
But I'm sitting on the couch while I do it.
And I'm calling that rest.
