When we got home, I'd expected them to be tired out from swimming and also mentally stunned from chlorine fumes, and I'd thought that in ANY case my awesome few hours of medal-winning parenthood would buy me a few hours of peace and consideration. I guess I was imagining the children saying to each other, "Mother was so kind to us this morning and gave us such a lovely treat! Now let's give HER a lovely treat and entertain ourselves quietly!"
Instead, I ended up LAUGHING because their questions and requests and needs were SO! INCREDIBLY! CONSTANT! Seriously, if I made a little timeline and charted the children's needs, the timeline would be three layers deep to include all the overlap. One child would say, "Can we go to the park?" and I would say, "
So by the time Paul got home, you can imagine what a frazzled wreck I was. Here is what I self-prescribed: LEAVING EVERYONE IN A CLOUD OF DUST. We put the kids to bed at 7:00, and I was out the door before their bedroom doors had clicked shut. I drove the minivan with ONLY ME in it. I listened to music without input or interruption. I stopped furtively at a den of iniquity and got a fish sandwich, french fries, and diet Coke, and I ate while driving to Target.
At Target I got a cart and I put my PURSE in the baby seat. I browsed without having my concentration constantly interrupted. The only question I answered the entire time I was there was "Can I help you find anything?" I easily stayed out of the way of other customers, without having to hiss "SINGLE FILE
Then I drove home, listening to music and not talking. Very, very pleasant. I was still fretful and frazzled when I got home. But! I was better than before. One cannot expect a full recovery from a single dose of medication.