A Real Adult? Me? Nah.

First off, how do NOT laugh at your almost-4-year-old when she says, “I’m very frustrated at you, Mommy!” ???  Big Sister gets this pouty look and crosses her arms when she’s mad, and it’s so freaking cute.  She’s so verbal and articulate that she makes me laugh every day, even when she is being sassy.

Things have been crazy this summer.  Even before the summer and before I lost my job, I felt like I was going crazy.  I finally pinpointed it and it was that I was feeling overwhelmed by a job I didn’t really like, feeling stay-at-home parent claustrophobia, and not having the time I wanted with my husband (due to work, schedules, kiddo time, etc).  He, in turn, had his own frustrations.  I think I finally heard the “POP” I was waiting for (after I pulled my head out of where it was stuck for months and months), and realized I was making a big deal out of things that I just needed to relax about and just…y’know, communicate, de-stress, let some of the little things go…  Easy, right?

I sometimes feel like I don’t want to be the “adult” anymore.  I get sick of crappy things like bills and jobs and mortgage payments.  On the evenings I work, when Big Handsome (my daughter gave my husband this nickname) is stressed after a day at work, then has to come home and be home alone with our wild children, I almost feel guilty for working.  Stupid, right?  We need the money so bills can get paid.  A part-time job gets me out of the house for a while.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  Etcera. 

Last night Big Handsome said he nearly started the kitchen on fire and all hell broke loose when Gabe pulled a plant over onto himself.  He cried for 20 minutes after that, and even then he was Mr. Cranky Pants until he went to bed (my son, that is, not my husband).  Needless to say, I came home at midnight to a sleeping, quiet house, with the kitchen a disaster and a husband knocked out cold from being so busy all day and evening.  This morning, I decided that instead of being a sarcastic smart ass about it, or getting all passive-aggressive on him, I would just clean the kitchen myself without bitching and greet him kindly and enthusiastically when he gets home tonight, even though I may have had a crappy and/or equally disastrous day with the kiddos.  And, I have supper planned and meat thawing, and it’s only 2 p.m.  What a freaking genius I am.  I probably shouldn’t mention, however, that I still have my pajamas on.

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