There's got to be a phrase equivalent to the dog days of summer,
although I'm sure it's not fondly thought of,
in fact often despised, yes, make that completely despised,
when referring to this part of winter.
Cold, dreary, dark, windy, bitter, just enough snow left on the ground to not look pretty, and the cold air sends tears down your face because it's just that cold, plus you're so, so incredibly tired of bundling everyone up in the car just to walk 20 feet across the parking lot only to unbundle while you grocery shop, just to bundle up again to go back to get into the car, remove the coats, buckle the carseat straps and finally drive home. Although the days are short with such limited daylight, they feel so, so long when you're at home with little ones because there aren't enough toys in your house to keep everyone happy, entertained, and quiiiiieeeetttt. And not crawling on you. Like everyone is touching you all day long...body slamming you on the couch, crawling their way up onto your lap. Someone is always touching.
You are all desperately needing a break from each other and your house, but there's really nowhere to go when one of those tots is sick again. At least there's no where to go where you'd be welcome. Not Chick-fil-a's play area, not storytime, not the gym drop-off center, not play group, not Kids Day Out, not the lame mall play place, not Barnes and Noble to play with their train table since it's screwed into the table so little sisters can't pull the tracks apart, probably not even Cabella's to visit the taxidermy-ed bears and deer. Even the ladies at the grocery store are giving you the eye when they see the snot rocket coming out of your little one's nose, asking "you doing okay today?"
I'm talking about the days where you've already colored. Twice. And had snacks. And watched Thomas the Train. And folded laundry with toddlers which is really more like throwing clean clothes all over your master bedroom to see who can make the bigger mess. And maybe getting one towel folded. But not
put away. And you've played trains. And trucks. And then pretend kitchen. And then trucks again. And dodged a football flying at your head. And read 15 books. And read the same book 15 times. And tried to clean the floors, only to turn around just as there's a box of dried cereal being emptied onto those exact just-cleaned-floors. And gosh, how can't it be naptime yet? And then finally it is. Except your oldest doesn't nap. So there goes the two hours you thought you'd have to refold the laundry, clean up the kitchen from lunch, and maybe squeeze in a little bit of work time/eat the M&Ms from the potty training jar and read blogs.
I'm talking about the days when you spent all weekend house-bound potty training your oldest, watching him like a hawk, and he's totally got this peeing in the potty thing down and then before you can even say, "tell me when you need to go potty, ok" he destroys the fresh pair of underwear he's proudly been rocking because he doesn't understand the concept of tending to some more serious business than pee on the toilet.
And then while going to get paper towels and cleaner to wipe up your bathroom floors, he runs into your bedroom, sits on the bed and leaves a nice poop imprint on your husband's pillow. (Not that this really happened, I'm just saying. It could. It's hypothetical. Hypothetical-ish.)
And I know you are all feeling it too because everyone's kids are coughing, and throwing up, and making messes you didn't even know could be made.
You love your job. You love being at home with your kids, but sometimes it's hard. And more work than fun. And not fun work.
So, the phrase to describe this part of winter may not be known to me,
but the phrase I keep repeating at my house is,
it's just a phase, it's just a phase, it's just a phase.
That and "tell me when you need to go potty, ok?"
And get a *$#%^* move on, winter. We're over you.
