Over tired is an understatment

We have run into a series of horrible horrible luck recently, and the latest is a broken washer, that we have no idea (ok some idea we worked on it last night.)  on what’s wrong with it. And frankly, I’ve been running on overdrive for so long trying to do all the things that I’ve forgotten that I can’t be superwoman anymore.

But that’s what I feel like I have to be. My husband works very hard to provide for this family, he even went back to a job that he wasn’t fond of but now loves because it offered health care and consistent pay and wasn’t run by thieves. So last night I asked for one thing, and of course, it didn’t get done.

I don’t blame anyone but myself because I procrastinate with the best of them, and then other times I just don’t have the spoons left to do what needs to be done outside of keeping the kids alive and fed and making sure that everything else is done in some sort of order. Don’t get me wrong I love being a stay at home mother. What I hate is not feeling like I am ever enough, that I have to sit down and take breaks even after doing the smallest task.

That some nights I can’t sleep for shit because I am in so much pain and my entire body is on fire and I end up sleeping on the cold floor because its the only way to get relief.  Or the fact that I have to scream to get my kids to pay attention after asking them 10 times and it hurts to raise my voice let alone yell to get their attention. So instead I’m left to be the mean mom and take privileges.

I’d rather be the mean mother then raise a child that is ungrateful, thinks its perfectly ok to swear at their elders, and do basically whatever they want with no punishment. I will punish my children, I will tell them no. I will make them stand in a corner every day multiple times until they learn right from wrong.

Then there are days that they understand and see the pain and exhaustion in my eyes and just snuggle with Mommy in bed all day and have bed picnics and bring Mommy extra water. Because as hard as I am on the boys I do tell them that I love them and that I want better for them. That I want them to be able to go out into this world and understand that there are rules and consequences.

And they fight me because they are fierce. And at the end of the day, I realized that I didn’t do those dishes or sweep that floor because it was a bad day for all of us. And I tell myself that tomorrow I’ll do better.

And then I wake up usually by John going to the bathroom first thing in the morning so he doesn’t have an accident and he comes in and cuddles with me and I enjoy this time, but I also have to take a moment to register my body, my mind, and how bad my joints and muscles are going to hurt when I get out of bed. Did I roll over and sublux a joint in my sleep? (I’ve had that happen so many times.)

I get my coffee an all I want is the let the kids watch TV while I take time to myself and it never happens. Because from the time the kids get out of bed to the time they go to bed its fighting and arguing and getting into stuff and me right at their heals, as fast as I can be.

And I see them smile and laugh, and it makes it worth it. I see them hug each other and I smile. I see them come to me check my water bottle, refill if needed and snuggle with me even for a few minutes. And its worth it.

Maybe I should hire a maid.

 

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