Exhausted. Mentally and emotionally drained. And that's where I'm at, at the end of this week. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it. I've been defeated by a six-year-old and a three-year-old. Plus a couple of babies.
This is Ross' first week back to school full-time after a wonderfully long summer and spring of being mostly at home. We are grateful he has a job, but we are sad to see him go. This is the first time since March that I have been running solo with all four kids all day everyday. I was feeling pretty low by the end of this week, and then I had to give myself a reality check. We have a friend who has been doing this for a whole year. No nights off. No weekends off. Her husband has been deployed since last fall. I have it pretty good.
But, lest you think better of me than you should, sit tight, and I'll give you a little glimpse into our week.
We don't do transitions well.
Monday started with Ross rolling out of the driveway in our dirty, twenty-one-year-old, four door - three door-handled, 250k miles, runs like a champ and rattles like a trap, Camry. Sawyer stood at the window waving and wailing like he was at a wake. Fischer waved for half a second then asked Sawyer if he'd come finish their Uno game. We were late to swim practice because the boys had seventy-two things that absolutely had to be done the minute I told them to load up. We survived getting four kids, two strapped to my body, in and out of the YMCA and back into the car with minimal sweating and mom-swearing - all G rated words but with R rated inflections. Nearly satisfying.
Day one continued with more melt-downs than I could keep track of, shoes being thrown out the door (not by me), threats of throwing away all belongings (also not by me), and endless moaning and wailing in the car while driving errands. It was lovely.
Day two had challenges as well, but I honestly can't remember much except boys fighting and arguing and harassing and crying on repeat.
Day three. Fischer and Sawyer begin hunger strike.
Day Four: Sawyer ends hunger strike. Fischer does not. Day 4.25, Fischer is hungry and angry, but refuses to eat. Day 4.27, Fischer is unreasonable, irritable, unruly, mean, and whiny beyond words. We are late to swim lessons. The babies have been hungry every 30min. It seems they are trying to make up for Fischer's refusing to eat. We survive the swim lesson and barely survive getting dressed post swim. We get everybody in the Mom-SUV and plan on celebrating. But no, this day must get worse. I oblige and drive into a large hole. I am stuck. an old lady gets out of her Oldsmobile and reads me the riot act. She tells me I've really done it. She has no idea. I've had four kids. I'm way past doing it. (No pun intended.) Kids are asking questions. I'm not answering. Grandma finally leaves me to my fate. I call Ross. Cry. He waits until I can talk. He's so nice. He also forgot his lunch, so he needs me to get out of the hole. He talks me through, and somehow our old SUV has enough get up and go left in her to get us out. Suck it, Granny.
The fun doesn't end. Fischer continues his hunger strike. He misses out on milkshakes. He gets to deal with Dad. He finally eats something right before dinner....then refuses to eat any dinner. He goes to bed hungry again.
Babies don't sleep tonight.
Day Five starts slightly better. Fischer is in a better place. We had a come-to-Jesus moment and he finally eats. Nap-time is a different story. I dodge a book being thrown at my head by said three-year-old. He is no longer in a better place. He is in a very bad place, and he knows it; especially when his temper tantrum wakes up the sleeping babies who have yet to give this tired mama a break. Oh, stubborn boy. Someday, your stubborn streak will serve you well. It does not serve me well at this time.
Day five is almost over. Babies are crying again.
No rest for the weary, but tomorrow is Saturday.
(Also, I’ll be laughing about it all next week.)
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