Sunday, July 17, 2011

Sunday Funday

I remember -- albeit vaguely -- when Sunday mornings were spent sleeping late, lounging in bed, having a big breakfast and staying in my pajamas all day catching up on TV shows on the DVR.  
Now Sunday Funday goes something like this... 
Wake up, fetch Mackenzie her milk.  
Watch Mackenzie as she plays with her toys. 
Read her some books. 
Fix her breakfast (eggs this morning, which she chewed for a few seconds and handed to Doug).

Now I'm huddled at the home computer writing this blog post all the while praying that Mackenzie will cry herself to sleep up in the nursery. 
Doug is at Home Depot picking up some supplies before he tackles the Amazon rainforest that has accumulated outside our house. 
I've already vacuumed the bedrooms and scrubbed two toilets, and Doug has made the bed and finished the breakfast dishes.  I know... what a guy! 
Hopefully -- if this kid ever goes down for a nap -- we can squeeze in a quick trip to the grocery store before we have to be home for lunchtime which will probably involve more chewed food that never makes it into Mackenzie's belly (I'm thinking baked beans today.  She doesn't seem to have any issues with baked beans.  The ridiculously hideous gas it causes her is a different story.  Hours from now the stench in the nursery will resemble that of a petting zoo.) 
Our afternoon will look something like this: Mackenzie playing again.  Us reading her the same books from the morning.  Doug and I trying to watch at least one show without Mackenzie changing the channel on us.  Some outdoor playtime which usually involves running after our daughter as she attempts to "explore" the street.  Then another nap for Mackenzie and hopefully a couple of Zs for her parents.  By then it's bath time, which is never fun time in this house.  Then comes dinner, which Mackenzie typically manages to gorge since she's spit out all of her earlier meals.  By that point we're typically D.O.N.E. but not until we're finished chasing Mackenzie -- who's bouncing off the walls -- around the house reminding her that she needs to finish her bottle before bedtime.  
It's then that we can finally have a proper meal all to ourselves, without eating Mackenzie's scraps and picking the crusted remnants of her food out of the highchair cover.  
Don't get me wrong, Sundays are still better than Mondays.  They're just not quite what they used to be.  And something tells me they won't involve sleeping in and relaxing on the couch for a long, long time.

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