I have been feeling weary lately. Mom-weary, which is like road weary but, you know, for moms. It seems to come and go in waves, and boy-oh-boy are we at the crest right now. My temper is quicker to flare, my impatience is swifter to rise, my voice faster to raise. And my kiddies are yet again getting the shit end of ye olde proverbial stick.
Everything takes a colossal effort. Getting the kitchen clean is a major battle, and the second I win, I'm losing again. Getting the kiddies out the door a Herculean task, requiring more arms, legs and heads than the Goddess Kali (though my mood by the time we finally make it is probably fitting to Kali's wrath). I am unusually reactive to things like whining, even for a second, even when I know in my heart of heart of hearts that said whining is the fault of the crappy nap from the day before and not designed sheerly to piss me off. I'm spending too much time hiding away on the computer and I'm letting Boy-o watch entirely too much tv and leaving Girlio to her own devices far too often because I just have no play left. I'd rather poke out my left eye than play. Really. (And as such, the next person who tells me that they'd just LOVE to be a stay-at-home parent because "How much fun would it be to just play with your kids all day every day?" will think those G8 police batons recently being flashed around with such um, gusto, were fracking feather dusters.)
I need a haircut. I need an eye doctor appointment. I need time to actually pick out the new glasses I need. I need to see the dentist. I need to go shopping for my wifey's birthday. I need time to actually clean the house - the whole house - without the small creatures following me around destroying every room I've just spit-shine (okay - I'm sure you all know I'm not that, erm, precise of a housekeeper, but you catch my drift). I need a casual drop-in daycare. I need a career change. Or maybe just a day off.
Because you know what? My kids are amazing, clever, beautiful and delightful creatures. They're super fun and super funny and cute as wee little buttons (though as an aside, are buttons really that cute?). They are, without hesitation, the best things that have ever befallen my little life. But when I can't get away from them, like, ever - this perspective can be a little slippery in the mama hands.
No break-y = crap, crappy, crap-tastic mama.
Guess who needs to put herself in a time-out?