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  • Writer's pictureLP Maxa


Yesterday I was sick. Not like I-have-the-flu-I'm-dying sick, but I was feeling down enough that all I wanted to do was lay in bed and take a lot of cold medicine. Which I did. However, I announced to my husband on Saturday evening after a full day of errands and birthday parties and work stuff that I was taking a sick day on Sunday. I felt the need to warn him in advance. I like to lay out my expectations step by step. This helps me in two ways; one, he can't act shocked when I refuse to get out of bed at 6:00 am and make my five year old oatmeal. And two, if he does act shocked, I can be super pissed at him for not hearing me the day before. 

So. My husband got up with our daughter on Sunday morning and took her to get dough nuts. Which was adorable because she got all dressed up like they were going on a date.  Then he proceeded to hang out with her the rest of the day while I did nothing but sleep and binge watch The Office.

{Long side note: I say "hang out" b/c I REFUSE to say he "watched" our daughter. I hate that. He isn't a baby sitter, he is her other parent. When I spend hours with her at home while he is working I don't call myself her nanny.}

I knew my daughter had an awesome day with her dad, mostly because she's a very loud child and I could hear her having fun. Neighborhood kids came over, the kiddie pool was filled up. My house was over run with giggles and the sound track to Trolls. Of course through out the day I had crying children in my bed. Sometimes only mom's will do and I completely understand and embrace that. 

I as I clicked "hell yes" on my 1,000th episode of The Office around 4:00 that evening, I was so in love with my husband. I even sent him dirty text messages, promising all kinds of things later that night. He gave me a whole day of saying Go ask your dad and it was glorious. I was feeling refreshed, my allergy attacks had died down and I could move without my head throbbing {the headache was probably pro longed due to my Netflix binge}. 

And then I left my room.

The house looked like a damn bomb had gone off. Dishes, dress up clothes, tea party remnants, barbies, crayons, and one lone bowl of popcorn. There was shit everywhere, and my daughter's room was even worse {I'm talking bad people, even a baby doll broke and those filler beads were everywhere}. Now, all the other mom's out there know how I felt at that moment. It was an odd cross between extremely pissed and left over euphoria from my day in bed. Should I scream? Should I just be happy I got this day to rest? Should I thank my husband and then start screaming at him? 

You all know what I did, b/c it's what we always do.

I calmly told my daughter to was time to clean up before bed time. Then I spent the next 45 minutes getting my house back in order. My husband helped, he's a smart guy. Now, I'm not a saint, I talked the whole time about how the mess was just proof that all I do all day is pick up after people. B/c it so freakin' was.

But in the end, I love my family more than I love my sanity, my well being, and a clean house. My husband rocked it, my daughter had an amazingly fun day, and I'm up to season 4 🙌🏼 

Love, LP ❤️

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