Sick and tired. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. Blah. I feel sick, and no, I’m absolutely, positively 100% sure I’m not pregnant. At least that would give me a reason for feeling so crappy. No, this is just garden variety doldrums. I feel hopeless and listless and groggy and all I want is to be left alone. For a few days. But no, I have three little kids, a husband who is looking for work, and a home to manage.
It’s the same old refrain. Nothing new under the sun. I can’t pick up the house as fast as the kids wreck it, I don’t have the energy to deal with them properly, I yell, they ignore, add more, rinse, repeat.
So I’m on strike. I actually took Jeffrey to the second-hand store on Saturday because that’s HOW BADLY I don’t want to do laundry. He got two shirts and two pair of shorts. That gets me to Monday. I can make it that long.
I wash all the clothes in the house. Fold them, put them away. It takes an entire day. Within two days, everyone has rifled through their clothes and it’s a disaster again. What exactly did I just spend a day of my life doing? Why? And I get to do it again? And again? for years? *SIGH*
Not feeling a lot of personal satisfaction in my role.
Same thing with food prep, meals, the play room, the yard, even my own hair. I do it today, and holy crap, I have to do it again tomorrow? And again? For the rest of my life?
See? Not feeling my chipper self. I’ve medicated myself with some Haagen Dazs- yeah, all that does is make me really really sick. And fat. And tired. Whoo hoo.
Took the kids swimming at the local pool last night. It was more fun than anticipated- until it was time to go. Abby and Bean both had simultaneous reactor-core melt-downs. Tired babies, too much sun, late dinner, tired mama and daddy = Yay! Let’s go do it again.
Sometimes I just want to run away.