So, my shift ends and I commence ticking off chores on my to-do list until time to pick the Co-Defendants up from school. Right now, Mondays and Wednesdays mean basketball practice after school; Tuesdays mean games. And so our afternoons consist of some variation of homework-chores-eat-bathe-bed with some fun thrown in to appease the rampaging natives. But somewhere in there…it happens. More specifically it happens when Dad walks through the door after a busy day at work. And so begins, once again, the Co-Defs campaign to drive me out of my friggin’ mind. The louder, faster, grosser, more obnoxious the behavior, the better. For them, bodily expulsions noises should rate as Olympic sport. I have not raised them to be this way…it is their father’s fault. I’m just stating this for future reference when they somehow, someway, someday find some poor schmuck to marry them, when aforementioned schmuck stands in front of me wanting to know who’s responsible for this ghastly behavior, I can point to my spouse and say ‘blame him!’ I did my best. It’s almost like they’ve decided it’s three ring circus time and DH is the ring master. I suppose that makes me a clown, only I don’t feel funny..in fact, I feel rather like a Stephen King version of clown.
Does anyone else want to hide away like I do from all the fuss and furor that is evening time? Some days, my thoughts will turn to the lowly turtle and I so envy him and his shell where he can tuck his head in and shut the world out! Of course, should he wind up on his back, he’s trapped…dinner for a scavenger or a hockey puck for a passing car.
I’m here now, earplugs firmly in place, enjoying the quiet, or at least trying to because I feel exceptionally guilty for eschewing the raucous sounds of my offspring in favor of that ever-fleeting smidgen of peace I so jealously guard. No, I’m not having a toilet moment (eeeww!), but I am in the bathroom.
Do other mothers feel this way or is it just me?
Occasionally, I’ll catch a glimpse of our dog, Lulu in what I can only call a contemplative moment on her part. Her dark soulful eyes gaze into mine and I swear I can hear her say ‘You poor bastard, you need a shell’.
|Get. A. Shell. Already!|