So yesterday afternoon I started with a headache. It's been a while since I've had a headache this bad. Oh wait - I had one last week... well before my headache last week it had been a while.
It started around noon and by 4PM I was in serious pain but I had to finish a few projects. Mr. was out so he picked up the kids from the camp bus and since I was out of Tylenol PM (from my headache last week) he stopped and picked some up for me. For me the only thing that helps when I have a headache like this is to sleep but who can sleep when your head is about to pop off your neck? Or you feel like your eye balls are going to explode?
When Mr. got home with the kids I was still working but I heard him in the kitchen and thought with a glimmer of hope that he was going to make dinner tonight. After finishing my last project for the day I moved right to my bed and flipped on HGTV. Mr. came up and asked if I was going to eat - no, I wasn't.
He said with a proud tone, I'm making dinner! I pulled chicken out of the freezer and I am making dinner.
I wanted to say, "big whoop dude. I make dinner every night. Do you want a ribbon?"
But I said, "Oh, good."
And he made dinner and it smelled good and I could hear casual dinner conversation and I was lonely. So I went downstairs.
Holy messy kitchen! I ate a few bites of chicken - it was good. Why doesn't he cook anymore?
He was on the couch - I was in the kitchen. Mr. said the kids could have ice cream. So who gets to scoop the ice cream? Me. Why did I come downstairs? I should have stayed upstairs and if I knew I was going to be put to work I would have. But I scooped anyway.
Back upstairs I went.
And when the kids came upstairs for bed - I made sure they brushed & flossed their teeth, washed their faces, checked their feet and hands to make sure they were clean, tucked them in and gave them kisses and called Mr. up, "They're ready!" This is the routine. He's downstairs watching TV and I am upstairs reading to them, getting them ready for bed and then I call him up. Same thing every night, "They're ready!" And even though my head was going to explode at any moment last night was no different.
And then it hit me. It's not 1950.
The only time I get to plop my butt in front of the TV before 8PM is when I am not feeling well. And even then it's not a full plop it's only a half plop. Why does he get to watch the evening news every night - I (seriously) love watching the news and I so rarely get to.
Is it too late to change the routine in the house? Shouldn't we take turns cooking dinner? And get the kids ready for bed together? And read to them together? Or am I just hungover from my Tylenol PM induced sleep?
Do I need a reality check here?
Please... people if I am being unreasonable - tell me.