As a SAHM, I deal with a lot of redundant repetitious reiterations of whining, screaming, illogical demands, and clean up. This morning, as I was wiping up spilled milk and soggy puffed up Cheerios for what felt like the millionth time while fighting off the 16 month old who wanted to eat what I was cleaning up, all I could think was, man, I really loathe my job right now. There is nothing positive for me in this moment, no silver linings of how blessed I am, no - instead, there's only frustrated muffled curse words that I can not and should not say. It's moments like these that bring me to my lowest and most awful state of minds. It's moments like these that make me wonder how anyone else does it. It's moments like these that remind me being at home with kids isn't all it's cracked out to be. Sure I get to sneak in naps here and there, at the risk of my kids dying without my supervision for those few minutes, sure I get to use Netflix or on demand TV to sneak in some peace and quiet or a shower every so few days. Sure I can eat whatever I want, buy whatever I want, and go wherever I want, as long as I also remember to take care of the little beings in my tend, which means the added time and effort that comes with doing anything or going anywhere with kids. Sure... it's all great in theory, but in execution, it sometimes ends up being constant conflict resolution and disaster control. In work, we used to talk about "putting out fires" in a figurative work sense. At home with the kids, I'm constantly putting out fires. You might as well put me in a firefighter suit, because that's all I do some days. But it's not a quiet lethal fire, it's a loud, greater than yelling at a ball game type of screaming with intense volumes and octaves you didn't know existed, coupled with crying, runny noses, littles hand that remove and never put back, and poop. So much poop. And pee. So much pee. And spills. And oops. And I forgot. And I didn't know. And I'm sorry. And I didn't mean to.
And in these moments, nothing really feels better except griping about it. Complaining about it. Writing about it. Remembering that it's not all giggles and kisses and hugs and roses. That sometimes it does suck. A lot.
Because sometimes I do hate my job. But I keep trucking on, cuz that's what you do. And praying about it. Cuz tomorrow will be better. Or maybe even a few minutes later.
