I am having deja vu...I think I have written this post before.
My husband wonders why I get so stressed out when he leaves the state, forcing me into the role of single mom. I am sure that any mother, regardless of the number of children she has, could tell you that it is stressful to have to handle the children, the house, and everything else alone...all the time. (Feel free to post so, ladies...he does read this.) Yes, many women handle it for hours while their husbands are at work (and, let's face it...the majority of it even when the husbands are home.) However, there is a certain amount of reprieve when your significant other is home. Whether it is someone to help bathe the children or clear the dinner table....or even something as simple as sitting out in the living room with them watching cartoons...so that you can bathe the other children and clear the dinner table. Also...you can never underestimate the importance of adult conversation. Trying to spend the entire day translating baby talk (which I really believe is a dialect of either Chinese...or Klingon,) coaxing the toddler to use her words, rather than whine and scream, and explain common sense to a teenager who's interpretation of daily life makes you begin to wonder what planet she (or he) came from (maybe it's an extension of those early years of speaking Klingon, I don't know)...makes you go crazy.
Yesterday I was lucky enough to have my mother's help through various parts of the day. I sincerely hope she wasn't scared off, as he has an upcoming trip to Kentucky...where he will be gone for three days. The children were all in true form. Before my mother got there, I had to confiscate my handheld mixer from Owen, who was dragging it down the hallway by the cord, as well as the broom from Connor, who was in close pursuit, holding it over his head. Doors were slammed (and locked.) Babies climbed on the dining room table. My mom picked up Jay from Jazz Band, and the older two argued pretty much as soon as they walked in the door. Connor kicked his brother. Irelynn bounced off the walls (and at times, her brothers.) Dinnertime was a cacaphony of sound. Bathtime was insane, as all three little kids were in the tub, splashing, laughing and pushing each other. Water flew everywhere. Owen wanted to lay down. Connor wanted to dump water on his head. Irelynn wanted to tickle them. I think my mother was ready to dial 9-1-1 at any given moment.
Luckily things slowed down after bathtime. We put in "The Princess and the Frog," the little ones' new favorite movie, and dimmed the lights. Not long after, the twins went to bed. It was the end of a long, energy-draining day.
I'm sure someday I will look back on these days and laugh. Someday when my daughter is grown up and realizes I really DID have her best interests in mind and wasn't just out to ruin her life; when my son realizes that you can't always take the easy way out of things; when my youngest daughter has realized that stomping her feet does not help her get her way, and when both my boys have learned to speak English....then I will be able to look back and laugh.
Until then, though...I shall have to keep the beer fridge stocked.
It's the simple things that makes me miss the old man the most. He's home every night but working 7 days a week, he's gone all day leaving me alone with the kids until almost bedtime. All I need is that random hug or someone else to take a turn yelling at the kids... and no, no one else can help with that. It has to be the husband/dad.
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