When I went to bed on Friday night, Saturday held such promise. After a week spent fighting a horrible cold/sinus infection, three nights spent at work, and an overwhelming feeling of being stretched way too think, I felt that Saturday, my first full day off since Tuesday was going to be stellar. Saturday was going to be a day to sleep in. It was going to be a day to finally drag my ass to Costco. A day going to birthday parties and seeing family. I was looking forward to Saturday, I was banking on Saturday, I needed this Saturday, desperately.
My human alarm clock, my oldest, woke me up at six forty-five in the morning. Caitlin has been an early riser her entire life, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but lately I can't even drag or bribe her out of bed before seven thirty on a school day. Figures, right? And while waking early on what was going to be a very busy Saturday isn't always a bad thing, I really, really needed the sleep. You see when I have days off during the week, I still have to get up and get kids ready for school, I have to drop off and make lunches and breakfast. I can have three days off in a row mid week and not a single one is spent sleeping in past 6. First world mom problems, but you don't realize that weekends will exist even less when you are a working mom with weekend hours.
We got the day started. Dropping off more Girl Scout cookies, going to Target for birthday presents for triplet boys (zombie Nerf guns if you are wondering), and going to the grocery store before breakfast because Mommy needed apples and bananas to start the day. We threw in a pan of bakery made cinnamon rolls since opening a can of store bought seemed daunting. As you can see, the day didn't start off all that bad.
Except I was bitter. Like really bitter. And I was taking it out on everyone. Sarcastic tones and comments when my daughter would not put on shoes to go to the birthday party. She wanted to wear flip flops and I told her repeatedly that I would not have any sympathy if she fell like she had at a birthday party a few months earlier. I was short fused and rude to the Hubbs. And when he finally asked what the Hell my problem was I let loose.
I was bitter because:
He got to sleep longer than me.
The kids woke me up before I was ready.
I needed to go to Costco three days ago.
My kids never listen to me.
I'm spread so damn thin I can't do anything right.
I yell all the time.
I'm never home.
I could go on but I won't. The Hubbs challenged back. What did I want? Did I want to run away? Did I want to chuck my responsibilities? Did I want to quit my life? Well, yeah, sometimes. Then I cried from the wave of guilt. I cried because I feel like I can never have a bad day. I feel like I have to plaster a smile on my face and push on. But then I quickly dried those tears because we had a birthday party to go to and I was trying to put make up on my face and comb dirty hair, and there was obviously no time for tears.
We went to the party. Then to another family party. And even though I could have fell asleep at either event I didn't. We got home and I finally got to eat dinner, as my family had been fed at both events. I ate, read chapters of one of my favorite books, and sat in partial silence as the girls played and the Hubbs cleaned around me. Then all Hell broke loose.
Just as I was making my spot on the couch for a little rest, I could hear a commotion in the back of the house. My girls were fighting over a toy. Normal and by all accounts expected. Until they were crying and whining, and at some point one of them started growling like an animal. And for some reason, I completely lost myself. I started yelling before I even turned the corner, and when I did I was met with the completely horrified looks on my daughters faces. They knew by the tone and the decibel that I was pissed. I took the toy they were fighting over and declared it mine. Then I sent them both to their rooms and ordered them to bed.
It wasn't until I sat down that I realized I was shaking. I realized that my heart was pounding. I realized that I was having a shit day, and was seriously taking it out on everyone around me. And then I realized that I was being a shitty mom.
I've felt like a shitty mom before, but now, with being out of the house with work, I feel like my time spent at home should be spent being a good mom. I should have more patience since I haven't been home, because I haven't seen their little faces, because I haven't had to be mom 100% of the time. But that is not happening. I'm coming home more tired. Things at home are being pushed on the back burner. My focus has been work, and home, and this blog, and then, oh yeah, I'm a mom too. How can I do all of this?
Before I went to sleep on Saturday night, I cried for a good half an hour. I cried because I feel like a shitty mother. Because I feel like I yell more that ever. I feel like I'm not home enough, and when I am, I'm yelling. I cried because I don't want my kids to have a shitty mommy. I cried because I know they love me anyway, even when I don't deserve it. I cried because I feel so overwhelmed. By work, by motherhood, by life. I feel like I'm on a damn hamster wheel. I cried because I don't want to be this person, this person stuck between a good employee and a good mother. I cried because I couldn't stop crying.
Then I cried for a very selfish reason. Because this blog, my writing, everything I've been working towards for three years feels like it's slipping away. I hardly wrote at all last week. And I have to admit, there wasn't any time or inspiration. I cried because when I really think about it this blog is a necessity for me, and only me. It doesn't pay the bills, or get my kids to school on time. It doesn't do laundry and it doesn't make sure lunches are packed. The only thing this blog does is make me happy and allow me to dream about things bigger than myself. How can I justify taking time away from my girls, my home, my family, my job? How can I continually say no to playing with blocks or coloring so I can just get these thoughts out so I don't lose them forever? How can I justify this one thing?
I can't. And so I cried because after all the yelling and bitterness, I still want this one selfish little thing in my life. The one thing that gives me wings to fly, comfort to cry, and hope to carry on. It may never pay my damn bills, but it keeps me sane, keeps me dreaming, keeps me breathing. And while I may say yes more to my girls and no more to my writing, I will never really be gone for long. Because I will always have horrible, no good, very bad days, and I will need to share them with you. So that you will know that mommies have shitty days in their otherwise happy lives.
Sunday was the Saturday I had been planning. It was the day I had so desperately needed, just a day late. No matter, I'll take it.