The end of Home Invasion, and it’s mine, all mine!
Quite honestly, I spend most of December waiting until I have my whole family home, together, free of school and work duties, for that precious stretch of time that goes by many names: Winter Break, Christmas Break, and Holiday Break to name a few. Or as I have recently come to call it, Home Invasion Break.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I love more that not having to worry about homework and toting kids here and there. And I really like having my husband around to change the occasional baby diaper and help around the house.
But it was getting out of hand. As a mom who normally runs a tight ship, well, a semi-tight ship that usually needs a little scrubbing and dusting, I feel as if I had been totally overtaken by people in my space, my domain.
My husband was changing laundry loads (incorrectly, mind you, and he has since been banned unless he promises to pretreat stains and sort colors), and the children hadn’t gotten out of their pajamas in three days. I hadn’t been to the store and we were scrounging through the freezer trying to come up with something, anything, to eat that wasn’t ham, keilbasa, sauerkraut, or any other food that we ate countless times at countless holiday parties. The Christmas decorations were starting to haunt me in their post-holiday gloom, wondering when I would be able to climb up to take them down without someone wanting something.
Yet as usual, all good things come to an end, and likewise, this too shall pass. And finally, after day after day of fuzzy holiday cuddles and hot cocoa around the tree and enough frosted cookies to sink the Titanic, they have all gone. And I’ve got the whole place back to myself, devoid of the pitter patter of fighting siblings or my husband’s make-shift office cluttering up the kitchen table.
I am once again queen of my castle, and that’s pretty fabulous because now, after all of the waiting, I finally have full control of the toys.
Of course, I’m speaking mostly of the newest addition to our family, the Wii video game system that we splurged on for ourselves, er, I mean, our kids. For those not jumping head first into this latest and greatest system, the controllers allow you to actually physically move around and play the games. My family room has been a bowling alley for the better part of the past week, and my children have become proficient boxers, amazingly enough without one single Band-Aid involved. They’ve danced along with the cast of High School Musical, and battled with some crazy looking creatures with names that I won’t even attempt to pronounce.
And between all of the fun they’ve been having, I have barely gotten a turn. I mean, sure, I played enough the first day to wake up with a sore shoulder the next morning (so I’m not such a fit tennis player, oh well), but my kids were pretty much hogging their own Christmas present.
Until now. Now that they are safely off to school, I myself am heading straight for the TV, controller in hand, ready to take on whatever unpronounceable critters that come my way and work on my backhand. I know it sounds a bit childish and selfish, but I’ve been patiently waiting while my kingdom was being invaded.
And by the time my skills have improved, it’ll be just in time for another long weekend at home with the family. Oh how shocked they all be at just what a good bowler their mother really is.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I love more that not having to worry about homework and toting kids here and there. And I really like having my husband around to change the occasional baby diaper and help around the house.
But it was getting out of hand. As a mom who normally runs a tight ship, well, a semi-tight ship that usually needs a little scrubbing and dusting, I feel as if I had been totally overtaken by people in my space, my domain.
My husband was changing laundry loads (incorrectly, mind you, and he has since been banned unless he promises to pretreat stains and sort colors), and the children hadn’t gotten out of their pajamas in three days. I hadn’t been to the store and we were scrounging through the freezer trying to come up with something, anything, to eat that wasn’t ham, keilbasa, sauerkraut, or any other food that we ate countless times at countless holiday parties. The Christmas decorations were starting to haunt me in their post-holiday gloom, wondering when I would be able to climb up to take them down without someone wanting something.
Yet as usual, all good things come to an end, and likewise, this too shall pass. And finally, after day after day of fuzzy holiday cuddles and hot cocoa around the tree and enough frosted cookies to sink the Titanic, they have all gone. And I’ve got the whole place back to myself, devoid of the pitter patter of fighting siblings or my husband’s make-shift office cluttering up the kitchen table.
I am once again queen of my castle, and that’s pretty fabulous because now, after all of the waiting, I finally have full control of the toys.
Of course, I’m speaking mostly of the newest addition to our family, the Wii video game system that we splurged on for ourselves, er, I mean, our kids. For those not jumping head first into this latest and greatest system, the controllers allow you to actually physically move around and play the games. My family room has been a bowling alley for the better part of the past week, and my children have become proficient boxers, amazingly enough without one single Band-Aid involved. They’ve danced along with the cast of High School Musical, and battled with some crazy looking creatures with names that I won’t even attempt to pronounce.
And between all of the fun they’ve been having, I have barely gotten a turn. I mean, sure, I played enough the first day to wake up with a sore shoulder the next morning (so I’m not such a fit tennis player, oh well), but my kids were pretty much hogging their own Christmas present.
Until now. Now that they are safely off to school, I myself am heading straight for the TV, controller in hand, ready to take on whatever unpronounceable critters that come my way and work on my backhand. I know it sounds a bit childish and selfish, but I’ve been patiently waiting while my kingdom was being invaded.
And by the time my skills have improved, it’ll be just in time for another long weekend at home with the family. Oh how shocked they all be at just what a good bowler their mother really is.
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