I drive home last night, and feel a sense of relief. The week is almost over, and we are all still alive. Yes, being alive does constitute as an accomplishment at my house. I apparently kill everything but my children. I don't do plants or anything else that may require attention. Domestic goddess is not on my list. My husband did NOT marry me for my domestic skills. I hate cooking, laundry, cleaning etc. I could burn water. I get the laundry done, only to have it sit on top of the washing machine (Practically begging someone to put it away).
The laundry 'may' make its way upstairs, where it finds a lovely home on the guest bed. There it sits for a week while family members search thru it for miscellaneous items. The socks go in a basket, because I don't match socks. I hate socks, I buy everyone the same socks so I don't have to match them. I prefer to spend my time doing something else.
I sweep and vacuum every night...because I hate to have things stick to my feet (raisins, cookies et). My children 6 & 1 walk around the house eating snacks, part of the hazard in having kids. My house is 'lived' in. Perhaps sloppy at times, but not dirty. I end up putting the clothes away once I cannot stand to look at them. Hubby does all of the cooking and shopping, he is a foodie, we luv the food-network. I have known crush on Anthony Bourdain http://www.anthonybourdain.com/ hubby knows that I stay up late to watch this man travel around the world drinking and eating.
Back to the house.....I got off track 'thinking' about Mr. Bourdain.
I have started to encourage the rest of the family to 'help'. Hubby limits his help to the yard and cooking. Not much beyond that....
As much as he likes the fact that I am 'working women' he still thinks we should have traditional roles. Does that make sense? He is not a pig about it, actually I don't even think he knows he is doing it. But I there are times I feel as if I work twice as hard as he does....and still feel as if I didn't accomplish much.
So last night, I inform them that I changed our son's ortho appt to April rather than January. This news was met with a big 'Why?'.
I looked a bit shocked and stated 'because they shut 40 down, and Brentwood current sucks and I am a bit busy (budget, audit etc). Unless of course you want to take off one day for the next 3 weeks to take our son.'
He states 'You know I cannot do that.'
Me 'That's right, you cannot, and I will in April. We have one appt to install a spacer, another appt to make a mold, and a third appt to install the W extender. '
I continue - 'speaking of dr. appts we have an appt for a sleep study at children's late this month. I was thinking about canceling it, but I have noticed that he (the son) does stop breathing at night. '
Lance ' Yeah, he needs to go. I will take him'.
Me ' You will have to stay all night.'
Lance 'you know I cannot do that.'
Me ' Yes, I KNOW. So if you cannot stay at the hospital then you will have to go in late, because you will have to take Pyper to the sitter in the morning. One or the other.'
At this point I should have stopped, while i was ahead. But that would be too easy.
I continue with ' I need alittle help around here'. *mind you he is cooking dinner.
He seems to know what is coming next.....
Lance ' what do you want?'
Me ' you choose - toilets, tub, floors, laundry, dish washer. These all need some attention tonight.'
Lance he screws up his face ' Michelle, I am really tired can we let some of it go until tomorrow?'
Me ' fine.' Knowing full well that once everyone was in bed by 8:30, I would get it done.
Pyper did better last night with the whole sleeping in your own bed struggle. She woke up twice. I put her back down and sit in the rocking chair next to her bed. If I leave the room she is hysterical, if I sit close and pat her back she goes back to bed. ugh.
On this topic, I hate this! She wakes up crying 'upy, mommy. upy (up). dnk (drink) mulk pse (drink of milk, please).' I quietly respond 'no Pyper needs to go nite, nite.' Every part of me wants to pick her up, hold her close and make it all okay. I feel as if I am breaking her spirit to get this accomplished. I feel as if I am beating her down, rather than helping her. She is a big girl, but still so little. Most nights I cry as I sit in the rocking chair next to her. I leave her for 9 hrs a day, only to spend bedtime fighting with her. Guilt is an ugly emotion.