I’m walking back and forth in my bedroom, not able to think of what I’m supposed to be doing right now. I feel the anxiety bubbling up inside of me, wanting to be released as a primal scream or outright sobs. I’m on the edge and afraid of going over. I feel a need to put this down on pen and paper, so to speak, so here goes.
Here’s how life has been going…
Brian has been travelling a lot for work. Like away for a week, home for a few days, and away for another week. That’s really not too bad a thing; I can cope. But compound the everyday life stresses that I have, with the extraordinarily awful behavior of five little kids, and it’s a recipe for breakdowns.
I started out ok; I planned activities for each day to hopefully tire them out and make some memories. We went to parks, out to lunches, hiking, friend’s houses and had so much fun. But whenever we are home, it is out of control. They are crazy. They climb, throw, beat eachother up, ignore me, argue with me, destroy things. It’s like full-moon kids every day of the month.
So after a few days of being out and about, it’s all caught up with me and I was hoping we could hang out around the house and have a lazy day today. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. But the kids weren’t having that. I let them goof off while I sorted through the playroom. I had that room all organized and purged! Seriously, within an hour, they had trashed it again. Nothing was working to get them to clean up. Their idea of cleanup was throwing toys at eachother. I offered to take them to the park if they’d clean up. No dice. So this went on for hours today. Everything they asked me for, I said “Yes, if you clean up the playroom.” So they got nothing this afternoon. No snacks, no park, no shows, no video games, no kindles. Mommy decided to empty the playroom. Maybe that would sink in. I really don’t know what else to do.
FINALLY, bedtime approached and I tried to use video time to get them to clean up and get in their jammies. Apparently, this translates to “Hit eachother with your jammies and practice acrobatics on the furniture.” Holy crap. At this point, I’m like almost in tears and I can feel the shakes coming on.
I just said, “Get your jammies and everyone go to your bedrooms.” Despite cries and attempts to convince me otherwise, I got them all in their rooms, and started to bring them one by one to brush their teeth and use the bathroom. The little boys I locked in their room to get changed.
I have to share the next sequence of events leading to this moment because, well, I just have to. It’s rather unbelievable.
Easton leaves the bathroom and goes into the boys’ room. As I’m bringing Emerson to her room, I go into the boys’ room. Brody is naked, Deacon is half naked, and Easton is telling me that Brody peed on his bed. Sure enough, there’s pee on the mattress. Brody peed off the top bunk onto the bed on the floor. Holy crap. I drag the mattress into the hallway, telling them they could sleep on the floor, after sending Easton to his room.
As I’m leaving their room again, Brody says “There’s poop on my hand!” After a brief investigation, I find poop also on the bedframe, where he had evidently sat to pee off the bunk. Holy crap. I walk him to the bathroom to wash his hands, while i grab Clorox wipes to wipe the railing. I strip the bed and when Brody comes back, I lay their blankets on the floor and tell them to go to get in their jammies and go to bed.
I go downstairs, let the dogs out, and there’s crying and banging on their door. I go up and Deacon can’t find his jammies. Which are in plain sight.
Ok, back downstairs I go to pour a glass of wine. More crying and calling for Mommy. Brody can’t find his diaper.
Downstairs again. Back upstairs after more calling. “Deacon broke his bed mom.” He had jumped on the Wooden board that sits under the matress and broken it. Holy crap. I wish I could remove the bunk beds right now. But I can’t do that by myself.
Once again I go downstairs and take my wine and phone outside on the front porch for quiet time. Not two minutes go by before there’s more crying. “Mom we want to brush our teeth!” No! Because I’m just THAT pissed by now. But logic prevailed and I took them to the bathroom.
So finally they are back in their bedroom, door locked, and I’m back on the front porch, trying to calm down. I keep checking by the open window for noise, and I see a kid shape running by. Easton is looking for me because he needs a hug.
Ok, sitting back down, drinking the wine, listening for noise. See the boys’ door open. Back upstairs, to find Brody asleep and Deacon not there. Sure enough, Deacon and Easton are in the bathroom. Deacon is squeezing half a tube of toothpaste into the cup. Holy crap. Curses fly. “Deacon did it!!” “But you let him out of his room! He wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t let him out!” “Oh.”
Back outside, downing the wine, wondering if I can hold it together until Brian comes home (hopefully) tomorrow. Googling a therapist who accepts my insurance. Fielding suggestions from my husband to break out the belt with the kids. Um no. Not my thing.
Trying to figure out better coping methods than wine. Feeling disappointed that my healthy diet went off track and I had to suspend my workout schedule. Planning out how I can get back on the wagon with those things. Deciding if I should suck it up and pay the expensive babysitting fees for some peace.
I decide on a refill of wine and a shower. But first, a blog post to let it all out…