mama's home

Friday was a burner of a day at work. I ran my butt off from 6:45 am on and as the clock inched ever slowly toward 7 pm, I could finally see the end in sight. Twenty minutes before shift change I had one newly admitted patient being prepped for immediate surgery and one being readied to ship out to another hospital (for immediate surgery). As I ran around like a maniac starting IVs and drawing labs and calling report and taking histories and doing a boatload of charting and helping paramedics load patients into ambulances, I all of a sudden realized that I wouldn't be getting out when I was scheduled to. I would have bitched, but I didn't have time.

The Film Geek picked me up, since we are still in one car mode. (Do not ask). He asked me how my day was and then when I was about three words into my answer he said well let me tell you about mine. And he did. All the way home. At the end of his saga I asked why he even bothered asking me how my day was. Why not just say hey I'm going to rant for five minutes and then I'll give a rat's ass about your day? He didn't really have an answer for that. Huh. If I'd expected one I would've been shocked.

We walked in the back door and in about thirty seconds had two kids and three dogs all clamoring for attention. My attention. Murphy's Law says that whoever is the most tired is automatically the most desirable. Except for some reason when the FG comes home tired he gets a little space to decompress. Huh. Wonder why that is? Not.

This was the soundtrack in my kitchen:

Gumby: Oh mom we took our social studies test today and I did really well except maybe not as well as Hannah, but we all know she cheats so it doesn't count and choir is starting in a week and I think there's something wrong with my thermos because it doesn't keep things warm and do you know what I think would be fun to do tomorrow and are you ready for your violin lesson because you keep saying you want one and you still haven't let me show you how to do power point and I got to a new level on Luigi's Mansion and is there any more pizza?

follow this past statement to the word "Hannah" and then Surfer Dude chimed in, talking in layers over his brother:

SD: Well, you wouldn't even guess what happened at recess today and I won at foursquare and I can't believe I only got a B on my math test and do you want to see me do my multiplication table as a speed round and do you know that Trixie can chase her tail for ten minutes in a row because I timed her and the only time she stopped was when she got so dizzy she puked in your jasmine and my teacher is so unfair because she always blames the boys and not the girls and that stupid old Maya is totally taking advantage of it and we're going to wedgie her on Monday and is there any more pizza?

And then there was the horror element of the evening, when the FG told me that Sasquatch's first quarter report card had come in the mail and then, mysteriously, disappeared. Sadly for Sasquatch his father had gotten a look at it first. I took a deep breath and decided I was too tired to fight tonight. There's always tomorrow.

So I listened to the younger two and asked appropriate questions and refereed math quizzes and violin exhibitions , sitting slumped at my kitchen table the whole time, eyes glazed and brain fricasseed. The FG, seeing which way the wind was blowing, went out for a bottle of wine. Smart from a survival standpoint, but also because he wanted to go out with a bunch of people and see a movie tonight. The old butter up routine in action.

I ate my pizza and checked my blog comments and watched TV with SD and the entire time there was a tape loop repeat of the above going on. They followed me from room to room talking. They trailed after me into the bathroom. Every time I took a bite of pizza they asked me a question and as soon as I had a conversation going with one of them the other one would jump in to stake their claim. They acted as if I had been gone a year instead of thirteen hours. (and they were in school for eight of them). Meanwhile the dogs were whining to go out or be scratched or be given a piece of pizza or something. Sasquatch sat on his Halo 3 Throne through it all.

I was on sensory overload at work all day and I continued it for hours after I got home. And while I much prefer home overload (watch me! watch ME mom!) to work overload ("yeah, I know it's my fourth pregnancy in three years, but I can't afford birth control"), it's all still overload.

But I have to give my husband credit. The wine sure helps.