long day

I was thinking about this blog the other day, and how it is both more and less of who I really am. I have enough real friends and family reading to keep it real, and yet the temptation is to control and manipulate how people view me. I want you to see me as a Good Mother. A Caring Friend. A Good Christian. And yet the truth is, some days I’m a bad mother, a crummy friend, and a lousy Christian. Like today.

I woke up too early for no good reason. Eager to get to my coffee and Bible, I made my way down the stairs. (See? I had to throw in that bit about the Bible, make myself sound all spiritual.) Anyway, I had a nice quiet time, sent a couple of emails, read my favorite blogs, and started on the newspaper. I even folded a load of laundry and unloaded the dishwasher, all before 7:45. So far, things are looking good, right?

I can’t say that the kids were terrible today, but, well, maybe I can. They were terrible today. It’s like everything they’ve learned about manners and being kind and picking up after themselves all evaporated in their sleep, and they woke up as wild animals. After reminding them four times to do their chores (which consist of getting dressed, making their beds, and putting their dirty dishes in the sink), I happily packed everyone up and went to the YMCA to work out. (And, incidentally, borrowed my husband’s shuffle. Interesting music choices. Spice Girls meets Beethoven meets Urbana Worship meets Bruce Cockburn. I’ve gotta find my ipod.)

I hate to think what the afternoon might have been like if I hadn’t gotten them out of the house for some exercise. Two words: wild monkeys. That along with a teething infant and a tired, dieting mother, is a recipe for disaster. At five o’clock I forfeited my only chance for adult conversation when my husband called from wherever he is this week, but I couldn’t talk because I was too busy making dinner and refereeing the noisy boys, who at that point were hitting each other as hard as they could. (Or, as Twin A helpfully clarified, they weren’t hitting each other, they were trying to chop each other’s arms off.) Nice.

By bedtime, I was yelling at everybody. Not good. But I had seriously had enough. I started thinking about what my life would be like without kids, and you know, it wouldn’t be half bad. Just think of all of the disposable income we’d have. Holy cow! We’d practically be rich without all of these kids to take care of! My stomach wouldn’t be an unattractive mix of craters and scars, and I could spend my days with grown ups, talking about interesting things. I would never say the word, “poop” out loud.

Usually I follow up these raw, honest statements with something like, “Oh, but to look at their sweet faces, I can’t imagine life without them.” But tonight I can imagine life without them. Tomorrow, no doubt, I’ll like everyone again. Tonight I just want a rum and coke and a hot bath. But I’ll settle for a cup of herbal tea and a new episode of Grey’s Anatomy and—hopefully—a good night’s sleep. And that, my friends, is the unedited truth.