As a mother, one of my weaknesses is creating consistent routines. I'm whimsical. I tend to forget about things like eating and sleeping at predetermined times, and so we end up playing outside in a pile of dirty leaves until we are overly tired and need to scavenge furiously for food that can be prepared in five minutes or less.
I need an outside routine imposed upon me, to help me create order out of chaos. And we stayed home from work, and babysitter, all week long, so no outside order was imposed. Thus, we ate bananas while wandering through the house, me tossing items into their designated niches, Windy pulling them from those places to shake, bang, stare at, possibly taste, and then toss back onto the floor. We ate stone ground crackers and sliced cheddar cheese out of tupperware containers placed strategically around the house at toddler eye level. We ate apples whenever I heard the word "aaaaapu!" which would usually spark the realization that apples are, in fact, delicious this time of year, and I could go for one myself.
Because little Stormy was fighting both a cold and the flu (luckily not the dreaded H1N1, just a seasonal variety), I was especially indulgent with naps. I have had to work hard to develop a sleeping schedule over the past number of months after coming to the sad realization that my child was not going to step up to the plate and implement a flawless regiment of long afternoon and nightly resting periods on his own.
And this week, we threw it out the window. If he seemed tired an hour after waking in the morning, down he went. If his little eyelids began to flutter and droop while we snuggled on the couch reading stories, I pulled the softest blankets up around his chin and let him rest there until he awoke on his own. We hibernated, like bears, and by this morning my house resembled a bear cave, if baby bears were provided a wide variety of small, stuffed toys and colorful board books to munch upon with their sharp teeth and tear apart with their pointy claws.
In other words, it was a disaster.
So today, while the little Tornado is tucked tightly into his crib, I am taking matters into my own hands and, without outside interference, creating order from chaos. I'm washing clothes for next week so we might wear fabrics other than the softest cotton and fleece, with waistbands not fashioned from elastic. SuperSpouse has been dispatched to the farmers market to purchase a list of foods for predetermined meals that will be eaten three times each day. Board books are lined up precisely on bookshelves and soft, snuggly, stuffed creatures are resting quietly in their wicker baskets. And I, with a mixture of steely resolve and a smidgen of regret, am going to bid adieu to my own cushy ensemble (just as cushy today as it was when I wore it yesterday, and throughout the night), take a decent shower (as opposed to the five minute rinse off to which I have become accustomed this week), and wash and style my unruly hair.
Tomorrow is Sunday, the beginning of a new week, and it's high time for the bears to find another home to hijack.