I’ve been back at work part-time about six or eight weeks now, and I was finally able to breathe normally when I moved back to full-time last week. So came Thursday, aka “Should’ve Had a Chia Pet Instead of Children” Day. Oh yes.
It was five minutes to dinner time and I had a half-done grocery list on the counter (because I shop after bedtime to save my Saturday for more important things, like not sleeping in), three crying children and a dog that threw up something yellow hours ago on the carpet.
On the carpet — I have a house full of wood floors and he parks himself on my $20 IKEA rug. It would be more dramatic if I said it were an heirloom rug, but really, the annoyance level is the same.
And that’s not the point: I cried those “no, I’m not crying” tears that sound like I’ve got a runny nose.
I just felt like I wasn’t doing anything right, at home and at work. I was yelling at my kids, burning dinner, and I hadn’t even taken off my coat yet. Plus, I hadn’t finished my work at work, either. Fail, from sun rise to burnt eggs for dinner … because I’d forgotten to set out the chicken.
I’m just no Mister Rogers, right; I’m also no Martha Stewart, no kind of cook, no kind of do-it-all person, because that is a lie. I know that now. When you have three children, you can’t do it all, because there’s too much to do.
So as I was tossing toast and eggs onto plates while the kids watched TV in the other room and the baby was perched on my hip, I realized something had to change. I’m working on that, because I have no idea what that vague sentiment means.
But then A. ran in and hugged my legs. Done with throwing a fit because I wouldn’t let her watch “Caillou” on Netflix (I was OK with “The Muppets” on DVD, though), she grabbed on and wouldn’t let go.
“Mama, I love you.” And then she ran off.
I mean, a Chia Pet can’t do that, right? And yes, I realize she was just thanking me for letting her watch TV. But still. Still.