Week from...

This week has been rotten. All because of work, which tends to spoil the rest of my life. Now I am not a person who, as a rule, has difficulty separating my work life from my home life. That's not it at all. What happened was that all the overtime I worked severely limited my time with my kids and JeepMan.

My kids go to bed at 7pm, 7:30 if they are "up late." This rule is somewhat flexible on the weekends, but carved in stone for "school nights." If they don't get enough sleep, they are MONSTERS in the morning (they take after me...).

We leave the house at 7am, sometimes 6:45. All week my kids have been late to bed. The mornings have been...difficult. Last nite I did not get back home until 8:15. The kids did not get to bed until 8:45. This morning stunk. The thing is, I cannot blame the kids (no matter how easy it would be to do that) for their rotten morning behavior. They are not getting enough sleep because of me!

Even if the stress of working late hours doesn't necessarily follow me home, the exhaustion does. I go home, put the kids in bed, and then myself. I am certainly neglecting my "wifely duties." Not one load of laundry has been done this week. The dishes are piling up - JeepMan cooks, but I think he believes in the dishwashing fairy. We are going to be out of town both days this weekend, so I really hope she exists. It's going to be freaking cold and my kids will be wearing their Christmas outfits, not their Easter ones. Yeah, I am stressed out. Oh, and did I mention that I will most likely be here late tonight too?

I snapped this morning and told the kids I was going to call the Easter bunny and tell him to skip our house because he didn't need to bring any goodies to whiny kids.

Oops. There goes my mom-of-the-year award.

Funny car conversation last night:

We pulled into a parking lot so JeepMan could go find a new mower blade. Don't ask me why we needed a new mower blade at 8:30 pm, but I was too tired to argue. We pulled into the front space of the parking lot. Right next to us was a handicapped space, with a sign. Plato is learning to read:

Plato: Mom? I wish we could park in that spot.

Why Plato? We are right up front, here.

Plato: Well, if you park there, they give you $100.

I looked at the sign, it says "$100 FINE." I asked him what he thought it said.

Plato: One-hundred-dollars, fun-ne.

Yeah, funny. Until you get the ticket.