It began with insomnia.
My eyes were heavy, requiring Herculean effort to keep them awake.
At 11 PM.
So I crawled into bed and waited for sleep to overtake me.
An hour later I left the bed, my frustrations at my brain’s refusal to SHUT UP jolting me with another wind.
I might as well write if I couldn’t sleep.
Ninety minutes later, I collapsed into bed, a zombie from accruing five nights of this.
Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.
An hour passed – my mind still refusing to shut down.
I tried music. Counting backwards. Unblock Me – my favorite iPod app for quieting my brain enough so I can’t think. I read a book on the Nook application – the act of trying to keep my eyes open usually enough to convince them to fall asleep.
It was likely close to 3 AM before my brain finally relented and let me slide into blissful oblivion.
The beginning of my Valentine’s Day.
CG awoke to the early Valentine greeting of the screaming banshee – at 5:30 AM – while I remained comatose.
When I awoke, it was after only five hours of sleep – an evil repetition of the previous five nights – since my sinuses threw a temper tantrum.
I’m not sure how I walked down the stairs. I wished CG a happy Valentine’s Day, my voice the mere croak of the troll hiding under the bridge.
The morning teased me, pretending it would get better.
I lugged myself and the kids to the gym for my strength class – the least “fun” but the most needed of all the classes I do.
It kicked my ass, but it in a good way. I left the room feeling refreshed – energized even as my legs wanted to give out.
The showers were hot, and someone gave me their shampoo – mine MIA from my bag.
All was going along just fine, until I walked into the child care.
And found a form waiting for me to sign.
Another Incident Report.
The Tackler had been working on earning a new nickname: The Shover (I’d say Pusher, but that just brings to mind a four year old drug supplier of Flintstones vitamins and antibiotics).
So his Valentine’s Day present to me? Not chocolates, or sharing a piece of “his” candy, nope. I received another three day ban from the gym – meaning I can’t go back until Friday.
No shower. No cathartic workout. Able to return on his birthday – a day I’d planned not to go.
My Lil Diva didn’t want to be left out of the Valentine’s Day fun, so she promptly filled her diaper instead of falling asleep on the way home – an act that somehow energized her more than consuming a pot of expresso.
Thanks to this lovely side effect, she fought her nap in a battle that raged the full fifteen rounds. Just like in the first Rocky, there wasn’t a clear winner. I was forced to let her scream her head off for ten minutes or risk her passing out at 5 PM or skipping a nap all together – just the icing CG and I needed after our sleep deprived nights – the perfect cherry on top of our oh-so-romantic Valentine’s Day.
So my Valentine’s Day this year is right up there with the one from third grade, where I missed my Valentine’s Day school party (back when you were allowed to bring in baked goods) – thanks to a good old fashioned case of the chicken pox.
Mother’s guilt? Frustration, at wits end, and urge to send child to boot camp? Privileges and my only chance to have Me Time during the day ripped away from me?
Check, check, and check.
The only way to salvage this day is to bake my favorite brownies – where I slide into the Evil Mommy category because there is no way The Tackler is getting a single bite – even if he helps me bake them – when he’s as close to “grounded” as you can have an almost four year old.
So to my family, who keeps calling with voice mails filled with cheer and joy – sorry if I don’t answer.
It’s a Vengeful V-day for me.