Ain't No Rest for the Weary

Hello, readers, Happy Labor Day! Are you thanking the ‘folks that brought you the weekend,’ enjoying a paid day off, grateful for mandated breaks and worker’s comp? Me neither! 

The closest thing I’ve had to a Labor Day in the last four years is the day I was actually in labor, which definitely does not count as a vacation. Invigorating, life-changing, awe-inspiring, borderline psychedelic, yes. But no weekend trip to the lake.

Perhaps you are one of those lucky ladies who has fabulous in-laws that take the kids for the weekend while you and hubby zip off for a romantic getaway. Or maybe the hubs watches the wee ones while you and your girls enjoy a spa and yoga weekend? (Do things like that actually happen in real life?) Anyway, if so, I am thrilled for you! Alas, the last time my man and I went out by ourselves was for the parent orientation at S’s preschool. Aw, yeah. Big date night over here!

The thought of creating a Parent’s Union is quite appealing, but faces several challenges. First is organization. Who’s got time to devote to that?

Even more daunting is enforcement. I’ve tried to tell S at times, “Mommy’s on a break right now, but I’ll get right on that juice order just as soon as I complete the requests for clean laundry and hot dinner,” but she just laughs maniacally and cracks her whip. 

So much work, so little time for martinis. Ah, who am I kidding? Like I clean!

Baby N is even tougher. I try to convince her that Mommy is contractually entitled to a peaceful meal (since she wakes up or fusses the precise minute the food hits the table), but she won’t have it.

My children have also denied requests for: a full night’s sleep, an uninterrupted shower, an hour—just an hour!—of quiet time. Nice try, Mommy. It’s like the Gulag up in this mug.

Luckily, my bosses also provide some very nice perks. These include multiple hugs and snuggles, a job that offers lots of room for growth, and plenty of humor. Just the other day, Sofia flung open the door to see the mailman, while pretending to talk on the phone. “Hello, hello?” she yelled into her make-believe device. “Anybody there? I can’t hear you!” Her telephone prop? The flange to the breast pump. Nice.

I realize that someday I’ll have a quiet, peaceful, clean house…and I’ll probably miss the heck out of my little task-makers. So for now, I’ll try to enjoy the chaos, while I continue to labor away. Speaking of, I just got an urgent call via the Ameda Purely Yours…gotta go!