I took the evening off, actually. Just a couple of hours. I told Mark that I was going crazy. I knew I was because my first activity when he took over was creating imaginary fights with him. I couldn't imagine that someone else besides me could even be capable of supervising my children without disaster. My first hallucination was that Kyle escaped when Mark wasn't watching closely enough, climbed the stairs, fell down all of them, and got brain damage. I realized soon enough that I had only created this scenario in my overworked brain, so I decided to be more rational for the next fifteen minutes.
Then it was time to imagine more catastrophes. It grew dark and I realized I hadn't had dinner yet, and neither had the children. Oh, poor starving babies, poor starving me. Mark, in my imagination, wasn't doing anything about dinner at all. I ran through the house to check out the dinner situation. But there was no husband and no children anywhere. So I scrounged a piece of bread from the fridge and went downstairs to watch TV. Whoa! How's that for a colossal time-waster? Just think of all the useful things I could have been rushing around doing! I saw a pile of laundry sitting on the dryer and I had to slap my hands to keep them from putting those clothes away.
Mark and Liam came home. Kyle was already asleep in his crib, so quiet I didn't even know he was there. Mark had brought take-out for the two of us and he also warmed up chicken nuggets for Liam. We ate, while, predictably, I felt guilty about taking time off and spending money on take-out (Validation intervention: You go, mama! You're doing a great job!).
So maybe I'll take the rest of the evening to watch more dumb TV shows which keep me from making up things to fight about with my husband. He can handle watching the kids--they're asleep. The laundry and dishes will still be there tomorrow (Oh, no! That's what I'm afraid of. Deep breaths. Great job.). Tomorrow, though, I'll do some more Mama stuff. This time off stuff just wears me out.