Zen and the Art of Motherhood

I love my family.

No, really I do.

There's just something about being cooped up with them for 10 days straight that will send my over the edge. And I'm teetering dangerously close right now.  I sit here writing this post because, if the truth be known, I may cause the next person who whines, yells, complains or messes up my newly organized house serious bodily harm.

The beginning of our marathon week-long Fall Break (I love it, is it now politically incorrect to say Thanksgiving?) started out OK. We organized play dates and enoyed fun activities.  I was even able to do some much needed planning.  Thanksgiving came and went without a hitch.

By the time Friday rolled around things took a nasty turn.  Because I love my sleep even more than a good bargain, no shopping was done, but believe me it was Black Friday through and through.  And then Black Saturday.  And Really, Really Black Sunday.

You see, once again I made a huge error in judgment.

Since everyone was getting along so well, I thought I'd enlist the kids' help in clearing a path, then organizing and putting our Christmas decorations up.  It was going to be a family thing.  Like something you'd see in a Norman Rockwell painting.  Oh how I love Norman Rockwell.

That's when the revolt began.  Me ask my kids to work?  Pitch in to do something that had nothing in it for them?  The resulting bitching, moaning and tantruming could be heard 'round the world.

My idyllic scene suddenly turned into an episode featuring the Bundy or Barr families instead.  Mom and kids snapped alike.  Then followed a whole heap of yelling, pouting and stomping out of the room.  In the end, I cleaned while the kids spent a lot of bonding time with their respective rooms.

But tonight I have to admit there's a little skip in my step.  Tomorrow it's a school day once more.  Then maybe, just maybe, I will steal a few moments of peace and quiet.

Only one question remains.  Is it Monday yet?