Birthday Parties Make Me Want Alone Time

Hydration is the key to vitality

Yesterday we had George's birthday party. At two years old, it seems like the smarter he gets, the less he sleeps. Getting up with him twice in the night is pretty common these days, and it's surprising since he was the best sleeper for his first 18 months.
I worried the night before that I invited too many people and would have to get more food, but there was a lot of last minute cancelations, so it was just a skeleton crew of George's nearest and dearest.
Whenever I have a party I feel like I am working in a restaurant, and after a couple hours I am so tired of running around that I think about sneaking off to my room to watch TV all by myself, a smaller scale Jay Gatsby.
My little sister, Becky, always takes off mid party and goes to bed. When her husband and her had a party for the Paquio Mayweather fight, she snuck off before the first punch was exchanged and fell asleep. She didn't even say goodnight, she just disappeared, and by the time anyone noticed, she was snoring away in her room.
Yesterday, Becky tried to take a nap when the first guests started arriving. She put her baby to sleep, and figured she would take a snooze too because she didn't want to stand around and talk to people she doesn't know that well. Her husband got cornered by a family friend and was stuck giving a verbal autobiography for twenty minutes. He escaped to find her the first chance he got.
She told me, he crept into the room, and whispered in a stern voice, "You better get up and get out there!" A rally cry, to come and join him in the doldrums of people arriving and finding their places amongst the crowd and room.
When the party wound down and everyone left, I put the kids to bed and tackled the clean up. It was not so bad, and only took an hour. I had Coors Light to hydrate during all this strenuous work, so when I was all done, and should have gone to bed expecting to be woken up by George as soon as I drift off, I got a second wind, and kicked my feet on the couch, flipped open my lap top and turned on the TV to catch up with the Real Housewives of New York.
Being offline for the entire day gave me a lot of things to catch up on. Usually I stare at my phone or computer, and think, "What can I do on here that I have not done within the last 20 minutes?"
I started to enter my calories for the day on my weight loss app where I am allotted a ridiculously low amount. I have only succeeded at staying under one time, and it was because I had the flu. My beer calories, alone, put me over the limit for the day.
I was feeling so cocky about out smarting my app, and being to my goal weight earlier than the projected June 22, but I don't think I realized how strict I'd have to be to maintain a 1,000 calorie a day diet. Beer, ice cream and pancake breakfasts really fuck up my diet plan because even the smallest bit of any of those items consume half my daily allotment.

Heavy snack day. Carb loading is part of PMS

My personal time was cut short when George started crying. I had to go and crawl into bed with him. His mattress is as thick as a pillow, and makes my butt hurt, but I am stuck sleeping on it every night.
I should buy him a nice mattress for his birthday. Even though I can't party like Jay Gatsby, under my comfy duvet with a silver tray of Coors Lights, and the lively commotion on the other side of my closed door, I could sleep in a bit more comfort.
Regardless, I will take a page from my sister's book, and cut out from my personal party early next time because I am so tired today, even George's flat pancake mattress sounds nice right now.

Nice ride, birthday boy