I'm so glad I was able to add something to the 2011 page on my website. Granted, it's a relatively little project, but that's okay. I still have the three monsters I'm working on.
I actually finished Garfield on Wednesday night so I got a headstart on Cinderella, not that I was able to take much advantage of the extra day. I've been fighting off fatigue for quite some time and yesterday I lost in a most spectacular manner.
Hunter absolutely refused to stay in his bed and take his nap, so after a couple of hours of "Go get back in bed!" "But Moooommmm!" "Now!" (wash, rinse, repeat) I lost my temper and ordered Hunter down to my room.
See, when my children decide they're not tired enough to sleep when they're told to, they run the risk of me snapping completely and making them stand up in the middle of the floor for ten to fifteen minutes. If they move from the spot for any reason other than a potty run, the time starts over. Usually, they don't make it the full fifteen minutes before one or the other of them has cried themselves into a stupor and is in danger of keeling over. By this point, laying down doesn't seem like such a horrible idea. (Hey, I've got a friend who makes her boys run laps around the house when they misbehave. I'd do that, but then I'd just end up with a houseful of track stars that can outrun me rather than get punished.)
Yesterday, Hunter found himself in this predicament while I folded the laundry that had just finished drying. The boy is pretty darned stubborn and he stood right where he was supposed to with minimal complaint and only one attempt to sit down. It was clear that he'd be there for an hour if I tried to have a battle of wills with him and I just didn't have that much energy or patience. So, I planted him on Steve's side of the bed and made it clear that he couldn't talk or touch anything and he was going to watch the news with me.
Within three minutes he was out cold.
Apparently, within three more minutes, so was I.
Sarah came home from school about twenty minutes later and said she found Heather happily watching Looney Toons in the livingroom, Hunter drooling on Daddy's pillow, and me sitting upright with my cross stitch in my lap, a needle in my hand, and as comatose as Rip Van Winkle. I'm lucky she didn't take a picture. She owes me some serious blackmail fodder.
In classic Mother of the Year fashion, I turned off the news, tucked the boychild under a blanket, told Sarah to go do her homework and keep Heather from blowing up the house, curled up into a ball and went right back to sleep.
As if it wasn't painfully obvious that I am no June Cleaver...