Everything’s Fine

I completely lost my shit this morning. Just a full-on melt down of astronomical proportions. What brought this on? My kids of course. But? Not entirely. I’m human. I have feelings, moods, crazy hormones, PMS, a sinus infection. And sometimes I’ve also had enough.  This was one of those times. I’m not proud of this shit and I wish to hell I had handled things in an entirely different way. But I didn’t. And I hope I’m not the only one who on occasion finds herself acting like a complete maniac.

I’m really trying to embrace this whole Happy Housewife thing and I am really doing it. I’m getting into it. I’m not Martha Fucking Stewart or anything. I’m not Bree Van de Kamp or a Stepford wife. But for me, I’m really doing well! I’m keeping the house (mostly) clean, things are looking pretty neat, if not exactly tidy, I’ve got some organization things going for most of the rooms in the house. And? I’m really enjoying it. I am truly embracing it. It is making me happy to have the house run smoothly and be clean. To make dinner and play with my kids and all the rest of it. Most of the time. But there are times when it all feels like an exercise in futility. Or, like the last few days, I’m sick, tired, hormonal, and about to start my period. God help you all.

This morning? Jemima woke up yet again not wanting to be put down. So it was a morning of her constantly crying and pulling on me with her little arms and telling me to pick her up and to “stop! stop! stop!” if I tired to put her down. I couldn’t sit down for 10 minutes without being interrupted by her. Finally, I got her to chill out.  I took the opportunity to scrub and sanitize my kitchen from top to bottom.  But then she threw her sippy cup across the room so hard the lid came off. And I’ll be damned if I didn’t just tell a friend yesterday that Jemima wasn’t a thrower.  So there was a puddle of sticky apple juice on the floor. Because of course I give her juice not water or milk. Just add it to the list, people.  And it began. The mommy rant. The woe is me hit parade. Things came out of my mouth while I was mopping the floor like, “Why is this my life? Why do I even try to keep the house clean? Why can’t I have enough time in the morning to drink a cup of hot coffee and read my emails?!”  Mind you, at this stage of the show I’m just grumbling to myself and no one is really hearing me. Who listens to me, anyway?

I get that taken care of and the big girls are suddenly bickering over something stupid. Who remembers now? Perhaps one was hogging the blanket or the other wanted to be next to Jemima or they couldn’t agree on which show to watch. I don’t know, but my losing it was jacked up a notch or two. I turned off the tv and told them to get up off their butts and clean their room. Like I told them to do 32 times yesterday. So up they went. And they were actually up there and it sounded as though they were really cleaning. And? They weren’t fighting. They were singing! And they sounded so melodious. Big Daddy and I were smiling as he worked and I cleaned that kitchen.  I told the girls that if they finished cleaning and put clothes on we’d go to the library. They were thrilled.

Next thing I know Nita is screaming/crying over and over “They’re MINE! They’re MINE!” big sobs. I yell up the stairs to Zeta to stop and leave it alone. Nita is crying hysterically now and barely getting out the words, “They’re MINE!” I’m livid at this point. I feel that blood pressure rising dangerously high as I sprint up the stairs yelling, “GIRLS! WILL YOU JUST STOP!” There they are in the middle of their room fighting over a pair of underwear. Are you fucking kidding me with this? So I yell at them to let go and drop the underwear and let’s check the size like a couple of rational human beings with half a brain between them instead of a lunatic who wants to scream and cry “They’re mine” and a jackass who won’t let go and keeps saying “No! They’re not!” So, turns out they are Zeta’s and I throw them to her. Please, please bear in mind that at this point I am just fuming. I’m sure my face is read, my heart is pounding, my blood pressure has got to be sky rocketing and I really, really feel like I’m about to lose all my marbles! I mean why can’t they just get dressed so we can go and have a nice time at the library! Why? Ok, so I tell Nita they are Zeta’s size and so belong to Zeta. She keeps screaming through her tears “They were in my drawer!” WHO FUCKING CARES WHAT GODDAMN DRAWER THEY WERE IN!  Those two cannot keep their room picked up let alone their drawers in order! They just scoop their clothes up off the floor or take a pile of clean ones from me and throw them in whatever drawer they can cram them in! Which is what I’m saying to Nita but she just keeps on, “They were in MY drawer!” As if this explains everything. So if I find your underwear in my drawer should I pitch a fit and insist on wearing them? What kind of logic is this? Think it through, kid!

And their room? A complete mess. I do not know on what planet the condition of their room would be called clean, but here on earth it’s called a goddamn pig stye. So I just yell all kinds of mean and horrible things and tell them to get outside and I will clean their room because after all I do every other goddamn thing around this house. So there I am alone in their room hanging up clothes, making beds, putting toys and books away, tears streaming down my face and yelling things to myself like,  “Why is this my life?”  ”If I have to live like this for another 10 years I’m going to kill myself.” “I’m going to have a damn stroke and just be down with this shit!” “I never should have had kids, I clearly can’t handle it” When in walks Big Daddy. Who I told to get out and go to the library 30 minutes ago. What does he want? Oh he wants to help. He wants to give me a half an hour and help me. All I can do is scream at the top of my lungs “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

He asks me why. Because I do not want to be around anyone! Why does he want to help now? Now when if anyone came in and saw me they would call 911 because I am clearly having a psychotic break! But where was he the days before? When I am clearly showing signs of being overwhelmed. When I am telling him I am hormonal and sick and not entirely sane. He saw me make myself a Bloody Mary with my lunch yesterday and did nothing. But now? Now when the damage is done and I’m about to have a heart attack, or completely snap, now he wants to help me. Buddy, I am officially beyond help at this point! He’s like those dopes on TV who come home to find their kids have been drowned in the tub by their wife. “I knew she was depressed and anxious and on meds. But I didnt’ realize homeschooling 4 kids and taking care of two little ones was really any big deal” THERE ARE SIGNS PEOPLE!  We don’t just fucking snap!

Now, I’m not about to kill my kids or myself. But seriously, this is hard fucking work. And it’s thankless. And I don’t give a goddamn if you are home full-time, work full time, have a nanny, your kids are in school, you work part-time . .  whatever your situation, socioeconomic status, or amount of children, it’s hard. I cannot be the only mama who feels this way. Right? Tell me I’m not alone.  I feel bad enough that I went ape shit on them.  I can’t handle it if no one else ever crosses the line at least a little bit.  I love my kids. I love being home with them. I enjoy (somewhat) taking care of the house and all that because I’m taking care of them and I feel good about that. But I’m only human. And? I’m not entirely mentally or hormonally stable. So shit happens and I’m going to blow a gasket once in awhile.

P.S. We went to the library and had a great time!