I am writing as I sit in my living room with absolutely nothing left to give.
Not to my kids.
Not to my husband.
Not to my work.
Not to myself.
I. Am. Spent.
For four days, my kids have been on break and my husband has gone blissfully to work while I’ve been at home with dreams of doing fun things with my kids…
Spoiler Alert: They had other plans.
Those plans included, but weren’t limited to:
Relentlessly being rude,
Refusing to do anything asked of them,
Speaking to me ask if I am their employee,
Fighting over who gets to put a DVD away,
Throwing fits lasting 6+ hours,
Exclaiming, “Why do I have to do eeevvvverything” when asked to clean their room.
Again, this is by no means an exhaustive list.
So, here I sit.
With nothing left.
My husband sometimes thinks I give in too quickly, but here’s the thing, friends…
I Have Nothing Left.
So, when I’ve listened to a barrage of arguing, not listening, time outs, time ins, and done nothing but clean up and open 4,297 snacks in the last four days, I no longer care.
Want to ride your bike down a muddy hill?
Want to put your sister in a laundry basket and see if she can sled down the steps?
I’ll allow it.
Eating chocolate chips for dinner?
No dishes. No problem.
Because, friends, I am exhausted.
This is NOT how I imagined motherhood.
I am tired before my coffee cools off.
I am resentful if my husband comes home from his vacation (aka “work”) and he gets frustrated with the kids as if I feel that he hasn’t put in enough time to feel annoyed yet.
I haven’t had an actual adult conversation in days and instead of talking to the hubs, I just escape. He hands me the car keys and I run as fast as my yoga pants can carry me.I drive to nowhere, listening to murder podcasts and not speaking a word.
I often wonder if other moms feel this way.
Do other siblings fight like this?
Do other brothers and sisters argue over who gets to open a door or get out a game?
Do other parents find themselves burnt out and yelling by 9am?
Do other mamas feel resentment, frustration, and guilt…
It is heavy and it weighs me down like a ball and chain that I drag around our house until there is a rut drug deep into our Cheerio-covered wood floors.
Friends, this season is hard for me.
But, if I’m being totally transparent, most seasons have been.
Because my mental health paired with raising an extreme child and a VERY strong-willed daughter whose sass matches only that of my own, could make grown men cry.
So, more often than not, I find myself giving in, not because I am a ‘yes’ parent (as much as I wish I could be), but because I have absolutely nothing else to give.
And, to be honest, I’m not mad about it. It’s my honest reality right now and I own that.
I hope my kids will have fond memories of games of MouseTrap instead of recalling the yelling over who accidentally set it off.
I hope my kids will remember the crafts we built together instead of the arguments over who got what color crayon.
I hope my kids will remember a mom who gave what she could and admitted when she was spent, because I desperately want them to recognize when they feel like that, too.
Because they will.
We all do.
Maybe not because of kids,
Maybe because of school,
But it will happen that they will experience a season that leaves them feeling broken down, beat up, and over it.
And I hope they remember that that’s okay.
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