Hello Littermates,
Well, I am trudging along in the kitchen. I had this really cool post all typed out, then my spell checker ate half of it. My mom called this morning and said that she wanted to get her hair cut today and my dad wanted to mow the lawn. So she didn't come up. Why my dad mowing the lawn has any bearing on whether or not she comes up is beyond me but.... Anyway, I made very little progress today. But I did make some. :) Mom said she might be able to come up tomorrow, but I'm not going to hold my breath. Mind you, she will go clean my brother's house top to bottom without being formally asked(like when she babysits his kids), but help me with my kitchen? A little irritating.
That isn't even the vent. It has to do with why I am out of sorts. It seems that everyone and their mother/father/sister/brother/ect. can tell me what needs to be done and exactly how to do it. They even offer to help or give the classic 'if you need help, just ask I'd be happy to'. Well, where are they? I don't know, but if you see them, send them over. The same thing goes for the kids. I am always being told that there is plenty of babysitting available, but where are all of these people. I have litterally been out once since Preston was born without any kids. Forget about me getting anything done. As soon as I get involved in something and start to make an inch of progress...one or the other start screaming. Do I have to hunt down these people and club them to get some help?
And evidently if I have a bad day I am not allowed to show it. It seems that I offended someone. I guess it isn't ok to get irritated by 2 screaming kids. I am completely overwhelmed here. The house looks terrible. Chad makes nasty comments. Mary makes a huge mess every day. What little I get straight is automatically where she deploys the next bomb. She just dumped 100 Mega Blocks all over the living room! Preston is the only calm person in the house and he gets wound up between 530 and 10pm (just in time for dinner and prime time tv which I never get to watch). Now I have to watch my mood around everyone for fear that they get offended. It is too much. The hell with how I feel, I guess. Most of the time I could just cry. I am almost hoping that the tornadoes that have been occuring lately in the area would come and take the house out.
My patience has run dry. My tolerance is gone. And I am almost up to 11 years clean and I have not had problems with cravings since I quit until lately. I am glad that there are no pills (especially painkillers- my former d.o.c.) in the house because I would probably be popping them like jellybeans. I told that to Chad and he just looked at me like I was insane. Like I should be able to do everything with no problem and no sleep. Easy for him, he is in bed by 9pm. He also doesn't understand the addiction. I am maintaining my composure, but barely. I don't mean to worry any of you, I will be fine. I've been through worse and survived. But I know that some, if not all, of you have been where I am now and you understand. It just feels good to vent.
Why can Chad make nasty, hurtful comments but not help solve the problem? Well, his solution to the problem is a dumpster. Why do I have to worry about someone elses feelings and walk on eggshells for fear of offending THEM? I can just feel the rebellion welling up. I have been really in control of my temper (Irish and German) and not lost control in many years. But I can feel the breaking point coming. And when it breaks, I'm not going to care who is offended. It isn't the kids who are getting to me (although the crying and whining is unnerving), it is the adults around me. I'm not super mom. I don't want to be super mom. I would love to get some of this crap out of my house but I can't work more than 3 minutes without some little person needing something from me. Speaking of which, it is almost 530 and you know who is starting early. It has taken me an hour to write this. Perhaps I can write m! ore this evening.
Thanks for letting me vent. Thanks for understanding. You guys are lifesavers.
Julie
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