That for the first time I think I KNOW for a fact that a manic period is about to make an appearance. If it doesn't, I will be highly surprised.
How can I say that? Well aside from morning sickness with my pregnancies, today was the first time that being a mother made me physically sick.
Have you ever had a premonition of foreboding? Something that says to you, do not get up? I had that this morning. I knew I should get up at eight, I always get up at eight on Sunday mornings. Except for the rare Sunday mornings that I'm not going to be going to church I am always up at eight. This morning when my alarm went off I hit the snooze. And I kept hitting the snooze until eight thirty. Something said. Don't get out of bed. I really should have listened and told the kids forget it, I will take Omi to church and to forget it. It probably would a good idea to not go today. I don't know why but I just had that feeling and from the moment my feet hit the floor this morning, things went from bad to catastrophic.
First off, this kids had been up since six am. They had to take showers. This is actually nothing new for them. I could tell that only wash ups had been taken. Very vigorous wash-ups, but wash ups none the less. Second. I got up at eight thirty. Between seven and then no cleaning of the living room, kitchen, or dining room had been done and no eating of breakfast had been done suggesting that they had not actually gotten up at six like they were supposed to. Olivia's excuse was that after her shower, she went back to sleep. Translation. She just got up. Period. They had also not gotten their clothes for church ready. At ten, eleven, and twelve nearly thirteen years old, by now they already now this is to be done before breakfast, yet they looked at me with blank looks.
With an hour and half left in the morning before we left, I commenced to getting clothes and doing Olivia's hair. her hair I had actually planned on doing this morning so there was no hitch. The clothes took time away from what I wanted to do to her hair so instead of curls she ended up with a stank ponytail. Straightened, but still a stank little ponytail.
Kayla then informed me that after much banging around in her room she could not find anything to wear with the pink shirt i laid out for her. I told her to look again. She said okay and ten minutes later when I found her in the kitchen drinking milk and watching tv I assumed she had found her skirt and put it in the dryer with the other clothes. (I am the mom who uses her dryer as an iron... sue me) I learned long ago not to actually assume anything with my kids fr too long however and actually asked her if she found something and she casually told me no... with a smile!!!!! A freaking smile! I kinda cracked a little then. Told her to get upstairs and keep looking. Threatened with the belt. The boy was sitting on the couch watching cartoons while the living room looked in shambles. Told him to clean. HE told me it was clean. Another crack. This one I think was the first to reach my brain because all I saw was his sketch book.
Let me explain about the boys sketchbook. It is full of trains. Not trains in general. The number 6 train in New York City. In perspective. It's coming. It's going. Here it comes. There it goes. There it was. Off in the distance, here it comes. Always the same train. Always in perspective. Drives me insane. different stops along the line but always the same damn train. He wants to live with his grandmother. So not going to happen. His father is not a bad guy. Randy is actually a very good guy but only because the good guy that Randy has become is because Randy made himself. The person that his mother raised... yeah... not very many people like that guy. That guy is a bit of an ass and a momma's boy. I'm sorry but he is. The Randy that exists today, I like him. Not enough to love him, no but I like him enough to be very good friend with him. If my boy ever lived with his gram in NYC he would be someone I disliked because she does that to people. She's is someone I dislike. My sister in law, I love. She is awesome. How she turned out so different I have no idea but... hmmm
Anyway, I saw the sketchbook and threatened to take each page and put it in the garbage disposal. I'm so tired of the same train in perspective. I am also tired of their things being left downstairs. It's bad enough their rooms look like crap, must they leave my downstairs looking the same? I barely live outside of my room because I can't stand they way they leave my outer rooms looking. On his way up to his room I asked him if he had everything he needed for church, he said yes. He clearly said yes.
So ten to ten rolls around and I say get dressed. Olivia gets dressed. Kayla gets dressed. I get dressed. And we're all waiting. The boy comes to be at 10:25 with no sock and no shoes and says he can't find his other Sunday shoe. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! I told him he has five minutes and I quietly sit on the coffee table while he walks around the house looking for the shoe.
Now about a year ago, I built a three shelf bookcase for them to put their shoes in. Every day/night I say to put their shoes away. He wears his Sunday shoes one day a week. you would think, they would would be the easiest to find but no. Because he wears them to take out the trash, he wears them to go play, he wears them to clean out the garage. He wears the backs down, he wears them untied, he walks on the sides of them. He treats them like his tennis shoes.
Ad as I sat on the coffee table, all this mornings little cracks finally came together and shattered the fragile shell that I was just piecing back together after my last manic period with thankfully ended last Thursday. And I unloaded. I couldn't stop it.
I remember what I said, it's not important but bloggers the worst part was I meant every word. I'm tired of living for them. I'm tired of being mom. People tell me every blessed day that being a mother is a gift but at the moment I'm looking for my receipt. I want to return them and walk out of the store with a brand new vacuum. Living for them, is killing me. I am so busy buying snacks for them that I have nothing that I like to eat. So busy buying food for them that I have nothing really tht I like to eat. If I cook it, they tell me Mmmm it's so good but I open the pantry door and there it is sitting on top of the trash. They beg me to buy stuff like Oreos and then at the first opportunity they get, they steal them instead of ask for them. If I tell them they've had enough chicken wings and to save some for tomorrow, I look in the fridge after they've gone to bed and there's significantly more because they're nicked some and taken them up to bed. They constantly run out of juices because on nights when they are to be having water, they are sneaking into the garage and taking lunch juices instead. IF I say get a half a cup of water before bed, they fill it up and give me a stupid smile and say oops. If I say clean your room, they bump and bang and pretend to clean for about thirty minutes and then swear it's clean and go outside. Or fart around in there all day playing swearing they are cleaning. They hang no clothes, they fold no clothes. They lay them on the floor until they have ben walked on and trampled a sufficent amount of time for me to think that they've been worn again and wash them again. They take my hangers into the great abyss known as th bedroom and then i never see them agsin but god forbid I go buy yet another pack of hangers and they ask for them and i say no. Then they give me the hang dog look like I am denying the a kidney and walk away.
I can't do this anymore. I really don't think can. Mother hood has no rewards that I can see. Nothing can be worth the pain that I am going through. Nothing...
