The comic You Should’ve Asked by French cartoonist Emma made the rounds on Facebook a few weeks ago, and it SO perfectly sums up my life right now. Go ahead, click on it and read it before you come back here. It’s important.
I don’t mean to lay the blame all on my husband – he’s insanely busy at work right now and because of his industry (concrete) that is just the way it is right now.
But. I am full up and burnt out.
I suck as a housekeeper.
I am apathetic as a parent.
I have no energy to give to workouts.
I am frustrated as a wife.
I am half-assed as a coworker.
I have no time for friends.
I have nothing left to give.
Last night about 6pm, I careened head first into the wall. You know the one, right? Where you’re arguing with your husband and yelling at your bickering children and (maybe) neither one is deserved (but maybe they both are), so you just lock yourself in your bedroom and tell everyone to leave you the hell alone for 2 freakin’ minutes…
Yeah, I’m full up.
Two hours later, when it’s time to put the kids to bed, they ask for a book, and I say no. I can’t. If you Dad wants to read to you, he can. Meanwhile, Dad is sitting on the bottom bunk, halfheartedly telling the kids to put their jammies on. I’m in the closet putting away two laundry baskets full of 18 million pieces of kids’ clothing that have sat there since the weekend before… I suppose because I was hoping that SOMEHOW, their Dad would chip in on this particular task at some point. Nope. He starts to read them a joint book to get out of having to read 2 separate books, Harvey pinches Stella, Dad gets mad and tells him to go up to his bed. I sigh and remind him that he didn’t have either kid brush their teeth or go to the bathroom yet, so no, he can’t go to bed. Harvey, come back down and go to the bathroom. Now I’m undermining their Dad and he is mad at me, but if I don’t, I’ll have to strip the top bunk of a queen size bunk and wash the sheets tomorrow after the three year old pees the bed, so who is being undermined now? The details matter, dammit. Go pee in the potty, THEN you can go to bed, I don’t care if you’re throwing a fit or being mean to your sister, you still have to sit on the goddamn potty.
After they’re in bed, I walk back downstairs. It’s 8pm, and I just want to meet up with a friend – any friend – for a break from my freakin’ house and life. Nobody can meet up, it’s 8pm on a Sunday night, I get it, it makes sense, but at this moment I hate my life. I can tell C is annoyed I’m sitting on the couch on my phone and not coming to bed with him at 8pm, but I’m so damn tired of going to bed at 8pm just because my husband wants to. I’m a night owl, always have been. Why do you have to take it as an insult that I don’t want to go to bed every night at the same time as our kids? You were working all day Friday and Saturday and golfing Sunday and I haven’t had a break from them and OHMYGODISONEEDABREAK.
I really should be in bed so I can work out in the morning before I go to work. I need to figure out what the hell we are going to do if Harvey doesn’t get into preschool (which starts in 4 weeks). How did I forget to figure out how to pay state quarterlies for our company last week? There goes my lunch break tomorrow, hopefully we don’t have to pay a fine. I should’ve gone to town today to get groceries. I can’t believe I took apart the stupid vacuum cleaner today and it still doesn’t suck right. C is never going to remember to bring it in to the repair shop. I want a drink. It’s 8pm on a Sunday night, I should just have water. Dammit, I didn’t empty the dishwasher and move the towels in the laundry. Maybe I should start that book I’ve been meaning to start forever. Screw it, I’m just going to zone out on this TV show until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.