Yesterday was a snow day for the kiddos. I was happy to have them home and to myself. Really. I swear. Okay, you got me. In the morning, my hubby had a doctor’s appointment to go to and had there been no snow day, I would have had to drive the kids to school. I haven’t driven them to school in over a year. I’ve been Fibronaut at Home since March 30, 2011 and have only driven them to school once since then. Really, I was just happy that I could have slept in, had I not been so happy at not having to get up, which led me to not being able to go back to sleep.
Back to the snow day and me and my kids, stuck in our 1100 square foot house. No escape, for them or for me. Everything was fine. We were watching Ghost Adventures, Season 4 and for a brief time, all was sunshine and rainbows. If you have three kids, three televisions, a Wii, an XBOX, a DVD player, a VCR, a laptop, a Kindle Fire HD, a tablet, a 3DS, two DS Lites, 5 gazillion kids’ books and movies, what are the odds that instead of finding something to do on their own, they will immediately glob onto whatever the other one has, whining incessantly, fighting, and screaming, until I am ready to run from the house in pajamas in the 15 degree weather? Instead of exposing my sensitive parts to the weather, I decided to get some stuff done. I loaded the dishwasher and rested. Then, I started cutting material for skirts for the girls and I rested. In between each task, I had to kick children out of my spot on the couch. I took a shower and rested. In between the straightening of the kitchen and the shower, I realized that we had a lot of brown bananas. Here is where the insanity begins.
I know better than to bake. I really do. But sometimes, the thought of yummy, delicious muffins and the anomaly of a “clean” kitchen is too much to resist. I had a “clean” kitchen. The majority of the dishes were clean, I had on socks so I couldn’t feel the icky-ness of the floor and the counters were semi-organized. I should have just gone for a walk in the snow and below-zero wind chill temperatures instead. Baking should be easy. I have a mixer. All I have to do is measure stuff, put it together and put it in a pan and I’m done. But this recipe didn’t call for a mixer so my brain didn’t make the connection and I hand stirred everything. The recipe included brown sugar. Mine is in a rock-like lump inside the bag. I had to chisel chunks off and then use the mortal and pestle just to get it in usable form. That was the first thing I did and with the way my arms, back and neck felt, should have been a huge red flag to me that maybe I should stop. This is what is hard to explain about fibromyalgia pain and what most healthy people do not understand. It is not that every movement is painful at the time and what you are doing does not have to be particularly difficult. What matters is that every movement is paid for, whether you pay when you’re doing it, or later that day, or the next day. Sometimes, like with my baking, you pay for it during all three.
The muffins are delicious and the children still breathe, but my arms and shoulders are petitioning the rest of my body to secede and my hands get these wonderfully sharp spasms going through them every once in a while. Here I sit at my keyboard, typing away, like I’m not going to pay for this post the rest of the day and possibly into tomorrow. The laundry needs starting (not happening), the kitchen is once again a mess (muffin mess plus dinner mess), and the kitchen and living room floor is even worse than it was (kids were home yesterday migrating as they ate their muffins). I think I’ll just chill out and watch the snow melt before I have to pick up kids from school. Maybe I’ll get lucky, the kids will get in a fight and I can make them do dishes as punishment.