I feel like I always need to clarify to other people that I love my children to the end of the earth, and I really do. But as much as I love them, and will miss their shenanigans when they grow up and move out, I must also tell you this; realistically they make me so angry sometimes. I have notice that the greater the love I have for someone or something, the quicker and stronger my anger is… So yes, it seems like I’m constantly grumping about them, but know it’s because I love them so much more.
The amount of stress they put me under yesterday morning was enough to incite PTSD in the strongest of people. My chest tightened up for like 30 minutes! They literally have ripped our bedroom door off the frame. We’ve fixed it at least 3 times and we just cant fix it anymore unless we move the hinges to a new spot. Open. BANG! Open. BANG! Open… over and over again starting as soon as they wake. Not the way I like to wake up, in the midst of chaos. They know they aren’t allowed in our room without at least knocking first. If they don’t get it soon I’m going to start sleeping naked and teach them a lesson about busting through a closed door. But I doubt that it will phase them at all. They are barbarians.
Anyway… this was one of the worst times in recent history. The “good child”, the youngest, is usually so happy and compliant and for some reason at almost five years old, has decided to tap into her inner Viking side. Seriously my heart is breaking. She has been pillaging every thing she can find and get away with. Then the oldest wants to tattle on her about, the middle sister wants to scream like a banshee “I hate you” because the youngest isn’t sharing her spoils, and her older brother wants to tell her what to do and gets mad when she tells him to go away.
So as you can imagine, homescooling on days like this is just a joy… I’m constantly telling them not to interrupt, stop being rude, speak quieter and focus. I just want to rip my hair out. Then when I do finally get them settled in, the little girls I swear make it their life mission to, interrupt the bigger kids school work. All four of them act this way almost every day, despite which form of punishment I choose to implement. To them, every day is spring break. I’m not talking about just time off from doing school work either. I mean like the 90’s version of MTV’s spring break where anything goes. Sometimes I just sit on the couch zoning out while they are jumping from one piece of furniture to the other, or running through the house, or up and down the stairs. I just zone out and say to myself… this isn’t my life… then I snap back into reality and realize that in fact this is my life, and I immediately want to scream.
I almost don’t make it through the day, but then it dawns on me that my husband is making dinner that night or he’s in charge of putting the kids to bed and everything immediately get more tolerable. Men help your women, please. And women, if he is helping you put the kids to bed or cooking dinner, just let him do it. Who cares if he doesn’t do it exactly the same way you would. Those are things that the kids will remember. I make my PB & Js differently from my husband. They both taste the same. but he uses a spoon and I use a knife. Do the kids still get fed? So what difference does it make? The only way to survive motherhood is to remember to pick your battles. I can not stress this advice anymore than that. This is the only way you will survive “Adolescent Spring Break”.