Unfortunately for all involved, Mr. Yoy has only been off of work Thursday and Friday.
The Yoys and I have had intense togetherness over the past week. At one point, we hadn't left the house in 48 hours due to cold temperatures.
MOM. MOM. MOM. MOM. MOMMY. MOM. MRS. YOY. LADY IN THE KITCHEN. CRYING INTO HER COKE. FEED ME. NOW. MOM. MOM. MOMMY. PLEASE.
I've grown accustomed to having eight glorious hours to myself each day. I'll admit, I'm spoiled. And I wasn't ready to give that up.
So as I sit here in the dark, writing, shell-shocked from the past week, I look back at my parenting decisions and shake my head in shame. I didn't bring my A game. I didn't bring any game.
I dug deep to make it through bed time tonight. Mr. Yoy left for the office around ten. The plan was to have dinner together. In my fantasy, he'd also put the boys to bed while I rocked in the fetal position on our unmade bed. That di…