I love my husband. We’re good… great, actually! I just have to say that at this point because what I’m about to say may not make that completely obvious. Living with someone – ANYONE – whether you love them or hate them, there will always be little (or big) frustrations. Try and tell me I’m wrong. I’m NOT wrong. I’m not talking about my husband. I’m talking about our two cute, sweet, adorable, sensitive, precious children.
I’d like to say that I wake up every day with a positive attitude regarding what fresh hell awaits me, and how my beautiful littles will opt to torture me, but obviously that’s not always the case. It usually starts with getting them dressed in the morning: Someone doesn’t want a new diaper, or someone else doesn’t want to get dressed, or whatever, and I end up having to pin this one down while she contorts herself into multiple positions anyone from Cirque du Soleil would envy, or I have to bribe that one NOT to wear the same dress for the third straight day. Or, more often than not, BOTH.
It’s usually before noon that I almost lose my will to live, or at least the will to continue the absolutely fabulous work that is staying home to raise your own children; fortunately, one of them still takes a real nap, and the other one can be (mostly) quiet for the better part of five minutes at a time, so every day I make sure everyone survives.
I thought, by staying home, I’d be able to do luxurious things like… the laundry? Certainly I’d be able to keep the house if not company-ready, at least I’d have all the toys organized and put away when the kids aren’t playing with them. When I was working full-time, our kitchen, for example, was organized and the sink was usually almost- if not absolutely empty; the laundry was done, folded, and put away in a timely manner, and our house was more or less ready for guests with an hour’s notice, sometimes less. It was a great life, but this is a great life, too, regardless of how organized or put-together my house and floor and kitchen and toy room are. Or how closely I resemble the crypt keeper.
Pardon the mess – the kids are making memories