The 4th was a great weekend, but I hit the ground running the moment we got back and haven't stopped yet. I am burdened by the piles of laundry, mail, dirty dishes, a water softener that plagues me with problems, poopy underpants. The kids' needs press in on me. They whine, they bicker, they dis-obey. They are kids and they cannot help it, but it grates on me tonight. I can hear the edge in my voice as I actually say, "Because I said so! End of discussion!" I fail to discipline effectively, if at all.
I cannot get the dishwasher loaded without pausing twice to mediate a dispute. Trying to start a load of laundry nets me 3 interruptions. This is the part of motherhood that slays me: I am unable to complete virtually any task that I begin. Other needs always take priority. The sun cannot go down fast enough. I pray for patience, patience and more patience. Even Olivia's delightfully imaginative play doesn't amuse me tonight. My only desire is for their eyes to close and not open until morning. And I hate all these feelings, the wishing away of precious moments so that I can get some relief from the pressure, just a little time to put life back together.
Finally, the day comes to a close. The dishes are mostly done. The junk mail is in the recycling, but the bills remain unopened. There is laundry in the washer, the dryer and in baskets waiting to be folded (tomorrow). The water softener has a new puddle beneath it. The children sleep, hopefully unscathed by their mother's inability to parent tonight. And I crack a beer and jump on the blogosphere. If I were wise I would go to bed right now. I think I will probably watch some mindless TV instead.
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