"With as much time as you are forced to be with our kids, I don't understand how you don't completely hate them."
This statement brought me great joy. My current frustration with this role was finally validated.
I normally wouldn't have felt such a need for validation, but last Thursday night I had been hysterically crying while storming around the kitchen, screaming things at Alex like, "I can't do this anymore. I'm done. They are too much by myself all the time. I want to leave."
The whole scene just really started the Mother's Day Weekend off right.
Alex had just stared at me. He never said a word.
He was probably a bit frightened of me, which was a very appropriate response.
Most likely he was extra terrified because he had just gotten home and really just wanted to know what was for dinner so he could just eat because he was starving. He's too smart to have asked. I saw him poking under foil, opening doors to all potential food holding devices, even checking the microwave to be sure he didn't miss something.
He didn't talk to me all night. He knew I had tipped over to the dark side and probably assumed what I needed more than anything was just a chance to not have to take care of anything. I needed a little space.
He was wrong. I really wanted him to tell me he'd come home before they were all in bed more often. I wanted him to ask me how he can help. I wanted him to help me figure out a solution of some sort, some way to help me not feel so insane and overwhelmed and angry.
I wanted him to suggest that he and I fly to Barbados and pretend the kids just didn't exist for a while.
I also assume he was desperately rethinking Mother's Day, knowing some HEB flowers and the kids coloring a card wouldn't be enticing enough to calm my apparent rage and guarantee I would actually still be around when he got home from work Monday night so he didn't have to be alone with them all day, every day. Forever.
He's an intelligent man, so he came home early Friday and essentially took over the kids after that. I left Saturday morning to meet with a behavioral therapist for Cole, (Yeah!,) and then spent the day getting my hair cut and colored, my fingernails done, and indulging in the rare and blissful treat of a pedicure and frozen yogurt with my friend Jessica. Girlfriends make everything better.
I topped the day off by having our babysitter come so Alex and I could go out to dinner. It was a fantastic, much needed break from life with my kids. I felt like an actual person and didn't yell or feel like stabbing anyone all day long. It was so strange.
Then Mother's Day came. I essentially believe my Mother's Day was on Saturday. Spending Sunday around my children, regardless of my husband's involvement and efforts to make it nice for me, was so draining. They don't yet grasp the concept of a day for someone else. They are incessant in their requests, activity, complaints, and chatter. They are so very present and all consuming.
The break helped though. I think it helped a lot. I feel slightly more sane, and even handled Cole's freak outs today better than usual, even when he knocked over my bedroom chair.
I didn't cry once today.
I have my high school girls' weekend this upcoming Friday-Sunday in Indiana and there is not another weekend of the year that I look forward to more. I can not wait.
To amplify the excitement, my Mom has generously booked a flight to come back to Texas with me for a little while.
Losing your mind has it's perks.
A huge shout out to my Mom for being willing to spontaneously plan a trip to Austin and take on my three children with me. Just knowing that she is coming brings me great comfort. Moms are the best....but apparently you don't know this until you've pissed them off for years.
My apologies for Mother's Day 1977-1995 to my Mom.
My Mother's Day 2032 is going to be the best!