It's Friday, so let's bitch it out!
I've been holding this shit in, so I'm sorry if this post is super long. I'm looking at the clock, and it is 8:17am....but it seriously feels like it should be time for bed. My kids are fucking animals, and I say that in the nicest way possible. I mean, they truly are just like animals. They bite, they whine, they steal food from everyone, and I generally cannot take them into public places, because of their unpredictability. I love them to pieces, but this has been one of those weeks that have me locking myself in the bathroom the second Rob gets home from work. I'm going to lay this week out.
They have been up at 5am....ever single day this week. Wut?? How? How do children not collapse into a puddle of anxiety, and exhaustion at 1pm when they get up at 5 fucking AM? I'll tell you. They save that shit for me, when they get home. The second they walk through the door, it's crazy. I do any and all cleaning that needs to be done, in the morning. I don't like looking at the mess, and when I lay Logan down for his nap in the afternoon, I like to be able to sit on my fat ass, and do nothing at all. But, the second my kids get home from school, the house is destroyed. It's amazing to me, that I have managed to teach my 2 year old to put shit away when he's done playing with it, but my 7 year old, and 4 year old are like "Huh? What does that mean?" Trust me, if you visit me anytime after 4 in the afternoon on a weekday.....you will assume I've been robbed, and/or insane.
So, aside from the fact that I am forced to get up and parent children at 5am, which really, I could ultimately deal with. I have the morning routine going on. The kids catch the bus at 8, and how we've never missed the bus, I'll never understand. Mornings are crazy! So, first of all I have to basically bribe Joel to put some fucking clothes on, and remind him that if he goes to school naked, mommy is going to prison. Not that he cares, but it's worth a shot. So, we argue that for a while, and he finally decides to get dressed. The discussion of what he puts on is a different discussion for a different day. Then, I will inevitably hear Ciena whining to help me open her drawers. Yup, this kid has no many fucking clothes that her drawers won't just slide open. Lyfe is hard, yo. Well, this morning I trot into her room to help her, and promptly trip over the mountain of toys that is littering the floor. Awesome. But she got the drawer open, so, crisis averted.
At this point, I'm busy trying to make lunches. Which then starts the complaining about what is put in the lunches, and arguing over who has the better lunch.....I know, I don't get it either. This is generally when Logan decides he is so famished that if he doesn't get fed immediately, he will collapse....or scream bloody murder. So, I start just throwing shit into lunch bags, and throw them into backpacks. Now, feeding Logan is always interesting. He has many special needs when it comes to feeding, one of which is that most of the time he needs someone to feed him. I say "most of the time" because he is technically supposed to be doing it by himself, but in the mornings, there isn't time for that shit. I feed him, because it's quicker. But this morning he decides he wants drinkable yogurt. He loves yogurt in any form, but this is his fave. So, I'm thinking, yes! He can do that himself! One problem....I'm out of straws. That could be bad. He pretty much needs the straw, otherwise that shit is getting poured all down the front of him. But, I have none. And now I'm holding the fucking yogurt in my hand, and he is screaming at me, "Mine! Mine! Miiiiiiinnnnnneeeeee!" So, I do what any other mother would do, I open that shit, and hand it to him. All the while thinking to myself, oh, it won't be that bad. Well, it was. The first drink he takes, everywhere. All over him, all over the floor, just everywhere. Now I'm upset, but of course I can't be upset with him, I gave it to him knowing full well that this would happen. But fuck! And since he won't let me take it from him, he just wanders through the house, leaving a yogurt trail behind him. It's at this moment that I look at the clock, we have 10 minutes.
So, here I come with a new outfit for Logan, and I get to chase him through the house. Yay! And here's the part where I point out that dressing a toddler, is like dressing an octopus. It literally takes me 10 minutes most days to get him dressed, and when I'm done, I look like someone beat the shit out of me. I'm trying to dress Logan, and screaming at the kids at the same time to get their coats, and boots on. Finally Logan is dressed, and we get outside just in time as the bus pulls up.
It's Friday, that means garbage day. Now this is the point in the post where I vent about my husband. Now, he works generally a 12-13 hour day. So I don't expect him to help with housework, or cooking, or anything. I actually prefer her leaves the cleaning up to me, I have a certain way of doing things and, well, we'll just leave it at that. But, he is "supposed" to take out the garbage. We don't put it out the night before, unless we want wild animals to dig through it, so he is "supposed" to take it out Friday morning before he leaves. Well, anyone that has driven past our house in the past 6 months has probably noticed a red truck FULL of garbage. Here's why. My husband NEVER empties that garbage can in the kitchen. Like never. I always do it, and it is ridiculous. This is why. Not only does he not empty it, but he will continue to throw garbage on top when the can is quite obviously full. When I say full, I mean, you throw trash on top, and it promptly falls onto the floor. So then I bag it all up, and either put it by the front door, hoping that Rob takes it out on Friday, or I take it out to the truck. Well, flash forward to this morning. While putting kids on the bus, I notice garbage out at the curb. And inside I am thrilled. Yes! He saw the bags by the door, and took them out, and I didn't even have to ask! Yes! Then I get inside.......there are the bags. So, he took bags from the back of the truck, instead of the ones that are sitting by the door, stinking up the entry way. Now, before you say, "Well, maybe he didn't see them." Trust me, he did. He has to step over them to get the dog his food every morning. Blah!
Now, don't anyone get me wrong. I am happy, I love my life. I actually love being a SAHM. I love doing all of the things that I do. I feel the need to clear that up. I am not "bored, and unhappy" like someone suggested to me earlier this week. I think we all have days or weeks that are just shitty. That's life. Nothing is perfect. But as shitty as this week has been for me, I will always look ahead, and know that next week will be better. I don't drink, but I do a pretty good job of drowning my sorrows in chocolate when I need to. ;)