Tired

Here’s the scene: 

I’m sitting on the floor of the three year olds room. It’s 5:50pm.  He’s talking himself to sleep as I sit by the door with tears falling down my face.  I need the little people to go to sleep. I need brain space.  

We were out all day, for a nice day. Then the crash.  I spent 45 minutes battling the six year old who’s beyond tired. He was doing his homework, then stabbed the three year old with his pencil for interrupting him, and was sent to his room after refusing to move to the library to do his homework.  After finally getting him  upstairs, I take a minute to set up a movie for the eight year old. 

He had just come down from a bath. He was sent there early because he kept flipping the stool over in the kitchen.  Accidentally, but when I asked him to put it away, he got all grouchy.  So...more pouts.  The six year old is screaming because he can’t take his flipping sweatshirt off. Another 20 minutes trying to calm him down.  

Finally, everyone seems calmish.  I feed them dinner.  My FIL who is visiting grabs his dinner and is probably wondering WTF am I witnessing.  Things seem calm enough so I make school lunches for tomorrow and grab the laundry to fold. The baskets of laundry.  

I got A towel folded before screams start. The three year old is crushing his crackers on the floor (which aid already cleaned) and was stuffing food down the kitchen vent.  He gets scooped up and here we are.  He may never fall asleep.  I may never get to leave the bedroom floor.  

Where’s my husband? At the gym. Because he’s always at the gym when these moments occur.  He witnesses them too, but it’s not like freaking candyland just because he leaves he house. And it pisses me off that for 90 minutes every day he gets to do what HE wants. 

This is NOT an uncommon scene.  This is life.  There are lots of good moments in our days, and there are lots of days/weeks where I  simply am seen as the maid.  The laundry gets done, the house gets clean, groceries appear, I occasionally keep my side of the bed warm like an old teddy bear.  I get noticed when a clothing item isn’t folded in the drawer, or a grocery item runs out.  I get noticed when meals need to be served, or it’s time to chauffeur little people to activities.  

Some days I think I’m not cut out to be a wife or mom, because a quiet room of my own sounds lovely.  One day I’ll have quiet rooms and I’m sure it will feel lonely, today I feel lonely in the chaos. Unnoticed. Unseen.  Unwanted.