Every week seems to build toward a crescendo on Thursdays. Brian works late on Thursday. He doesn't get home until 7. It's only an extra hour, but because the hour is after naps it feels longer.
It can be a great day with the kids, but because I know he's gonna be late, I postpone naps as late as I can. I draw out lunch, let the kids play a bit, try to take care of laundry.
My strategy is simple; the later naps are, the less time between post-nap and Brian's arrival. Post-nap behavior is typically not good. It would help if my older two napped regularly; they don't.
The attitudes are poor and they quickly decompensate. The kids like to make demands--can we go to d'da and bubba's house, can we eat candy, can we take every toy we own out and not play with it? (That last one was made up, but I'm looking at a pile of trains and trucks on the ground in the kitchen. They didn't ask but it happened anyway.)
My behavior also decompensate after naps. On a good day, when I get to nap by myself (it's very rare), I am able to replenish my patience. It's never back to morning levels but it means my head won't spin around if someone accidentally spills a cup of milk.
Most Thursdays, my head spins at least once. It's such a marathon of a day and the kids don't appreciate that. Unable to tell time, an extra hour means very little to them. They don't purposefully try my patience more; the weight of those extra sixty minutes empties my reserves quicker.
I have grown to dread Thursdays. In a perfect world, I would spend time with another family. That doesn't happen because it's the witching hour for everyone. Extra faces around someone else's table puts extra weight on their reserves.
The sigh of relief that accompanies Brian's first step into the house is heavenly. It's wonderful to exhale into Friday.
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