OK. Before I start today, I just want to say that no matter what I am about to say, I love being a mom. I love my six children. They are wonderful and beautiful, and I’m sure they will grow into adults I am proud of. I love my husband. I’ve covered that in a recent post. 🙂 And I love being a stay-at-home mom. I would not want to miss out on the day-to-day stuff of raising my children. I love being the one to watch the amazing discoveries in Caleb’s “Will It Float?” games; and I’m so glad I am the one to help settle the arguments and restore peace; and I wouldn’t want anyone else helping them learn their colors or letters.
Now, having said that, I need to vent.
In the day-to-day-ness of raising these children, it is very easy to lose myself. This is one of those weeks.
Our house is a wreck. We have too many people and too much stuff crammed in here. I need a bulldozer to come through and take it all away (just the stuff, not the people). I want to clean a room (or I’d settle for a corner of a room) and have it stay clean and orderly for more than three minutes. I am tired of cleaning up cereal that got dumped out onto the counter, then the floor, when someone was sneaking a handful. I am tired of fishing a boy out of the dog’s water or the bathroom sink. I’m tired of stepping on Legos and Little People.
Yes, I know, there will be a day when the children are long gone and I’ll desperately want to step on a Lego again. But please, humor me, I’m in the middle of this now; and if I step on one more Little Person, I may have to throw Maggie and Eddie and Farmer Jed right out the window.
I’m also sick of the smell of urine. I’m tired of bed-wetting and leaky diapers. It’s almost impossible to get the smell of pee out of fleece blankets! Yes, I know white vinegar can do the trick; but I really wish I didn’t *have* to know that!
I used to diagram sentences for fun! I used to read actual literature. Now I’m lucky to get through an entire article in Reader’s Digest. I used to speak in multisyllables. I used to have entire conversations without anybody touching my arm to interrupt (five hundred times). I used to leave scissors out in plain view, never dreaming the day would come when I’d hide them and then sneak away to retrieve them when I needed to cut something.
Somewhere deep inside me is a witty person, able to carry on long, intelligent conversations. Somewhere in there is a woman who loves to travel –without packing everything in our house. Somewhere, buried under the nose-wiper, sandwich-maker I have become, is a person who listens to music that isn’t sung by someone in costume.
On days like this and weeks like this, I want to scream and remind myself — I am more than a yucky-smell-remover. I am more than a toy-picker-upper. I am more than a bottom-wiper and diaper-changer. I am more than a laundry-folder. I am smart and capable and I will not be undone by the actions of a two-year-old. I could be doing anything, anything, I wanted to; and I am here wiping noses, picking up toys, settling arguments, washing bedding because I want to be here. I have chosen this. I intentionally choose to lay aside Jane Austen and pick up Sandra Boynton. I intentionally choose to put away Trivial Pursuit and pull out Candyland.
Whew! That helps. I feel better already. And after the kids go to bed, I can get out Jane Austen and Trivial Pursuit and feel like me again. Just a few more hours to go!