Five minutes

Whew.  I'm beat.

I asked Mr W earlier this evening "Should I be this tired?"  I'm feeling wimpy.  It's not like I don't chase around after the Fab Four all the time, either, and I am surprised that after the last two days, I'm ready to throw in the towel.

For crying out loud, 3 of them have been in school for most of the time anyway, and Mr  W politely shuffles along from room to room not being too demanding.  The cats haven't peed on anything (ugh, today) and Shadow's been on her best behavior.  Why am I complaining that I'm feeling a bit worn out?  W I M P Y.

Ok, I hate to admit this, but I will.  Ladies, take note.

That five minutes of assistance that Mr W gives me each day?  The five minutes that I bitch at him from time to time isn't enough, that he could in fact help out more, that I want to be him so I can live my life by simply showing up?

Yeah, those five minutes?  Weeeelll, they are apparently pretty significant, because he hasn't been able to give them to me the last couple of days, and I am spinning my wheels to fill in the blanks.  I am feeling wimpy about it, because I pride myself on being well-organized (a survival instinct with these troops) and clear- headed.  I don't like to get fazed by something as simple as Audrey babbling at me before 8 o'clock.

This morning, I was getting Ryan ready for school.  I asked them both what they wanted to drink, milk or juice.  Ok.  Ryan says 'milk', she says 'yooce' and what do I do?  I pour them both milk, watching myself do it, realizing something's off, because she's babbling at me and it broke my concentration.  WTF?  Usually,I can drive, retrieve a shoe off the floor behind my seat, and change CD's without missing a beat, ("Weaving?  No, officer, I haven't been drinking..") but now I can't remember two different items?  OY, someone get me a chair, I need to sit down. 

So, girls, if you are lucky enough to have a man around that will help you out with the diapers, help them out with the homework, and give you five minutes peace by guarding whatever door you are hiding behind to keep the kids at bay, be thankful.  Should he agree to do the laundry (look the other way when he doesn't fold it) and occasionally cook dinner (!)(or at least spring for takeout), then you need to be very, very thankful.  A man like that needs some special, loving attention. 

Why are you still here reading this?  Is he just not home yet?  Shoo!  Go give him five minutes.  Or fifteen.  Or an hour.

I need to go check on my patient.  Bless his little pain-medicated heart.