Apparently, I am deeply worried about sofa cushion forts

I’m having a bit of a getaway–Rob had meetings at Stowe for two nights and I am playing taglong. NO obligations, no dinners even, just a place to hang out, swim, bike a bit and write a bit. All good.

So why did I wake up at five this morning worried about forts? Specifically, one fort, the “biggest fort ever”, subject of much pride and joy and where Sam, Lily and Wyatt–and their long-suffering, game for anything, best-babysitter-ever Holly apparently slept while we were gone. I am mostly sort of very happy for them.

But here’s the thing. Sam may call it the “biggest fort ever” but Holly said it “took every blanket in the house”…and I am feeling so, so churlish about putting those blankets back. And does that mean, like the ones off the beds? Do I have to remake beds too?

I know I am worrying about nothing. I know I am wasting time that could be spent relaxing so that I will view the giant fort with grace and express proper appreciation. I know it is vastly more important that they are all happy (very, apparently) and safe. i know that they must be made to clean it up themselves, too, so that they learn that that is part of having fun. Boy, that sounds like fun for me, too, now that I come to think of it. “What a wonderful fort! Are you ready to take it all down now?” Way to go, partypooper mommy.

Could I find something pettier to stress about? But I do get tired of the magnitude of the mess that they make, I’m sorry, I just do. They fill a cup, take a sip and decide they need another cup. They change clothes two and three times a day. THey carry toys that belong on one room into another, scatter the stacked magazines on the coffee table for no reason at all, roll on beds I’ve just smoothed and bounce all over stacks of clean laundry. Oh, I just remembered–you know how that works–that I actually had a dream about that last night, that Sam was sitting in the middle of clothes I’d folded and knocking them over and I finally said, do it once more and you go to your room, and he’d turned to look at me and knocked over a stack with his elbow, it’s not something he does on purpose, he’s just clumsy–and I sent him to his room.

I am pretty sure I used to dream about much more interesting things.

So my point is, why can they not just sit perfectly still in one place and play with one thing? Why? That is the other reason people use the TV so much, I know it is. Because watching it isn’t messy.

Wow, I’m being all surly and cynical about them, and I’ve been away for two days. But somehow the fort thing has negated it all. Both of my sitters are generally very neat and leave the place clean, but obviously they won’t be able to tear down the fort. I need to just…chill.

All the blankets in the house…

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