The stresses of the year thus far have finally gotten to me. The new diagnoses, the constant monitoring of drugs and behavior, IEP's, car pools, meetings, laundry, discipline, planning, surviving. Day-to-day I think I have control of the things that cause most people to go postal, and then one day it hits me right in the face. Unfortunately, today it ricocheted back onto the kids.
A couple of days before we went on vacation, we spent an entire Saturday picking up and cleaning the house. For once, I wanted to come home from a trip to an uncluttered domicile. There is something really pleasant about that - and something really aggravating about coming home to a dirty one. The former makes for a relaxing return, the latter just pisses me off.
Well, in just 5 short days (less than that actually), this house has become a complete disaster. Toys are everywhere, which in my mind means there are too many toys. Boys Hanes underwear is in very strange locations because Captain Underpants has been sneaking into Ian's drawers and flinging the contents during battle. Cereal bowls are in places they shouldn't be (i.e., any place outside the kitchen) because my children pour themselves a bowl of Cheerios and then walk around the house with them, even though they have received instructions to the contrary. Listening skills seem to have hit an all-time low, and I am too tired to argue effectively for better communication and understanding amongst the four of us.
Monday I found out that I have sleep apnea. Go figure. The best I can tell, it has been going on since before I became pregnant with Ian. According to the report from the sleep lab, I stop breathing approximately 15 times an HOUR during the night. That means I stop breathing and then wake up about every 7 minutes. I HAVEN'T HAD A FULL NIGHT'S SLEEP IN OVER 10 YEARS!!! No wonder I am such a grump. And I thought my moods were affected by my challenging family and the moon, when all along it was lack of oxygen to my brain. Huh.
So, all of this, as well as having no chocolate in the house AND intermittent rain storms have caused me to lose my cool. Had I vented, ranted, and raved on Steve, he probably would have laughed, filled the tub with warm bubbly water, told me to get in and left with the kids for a couple of hours. He understands that with me the stress seems to hit all at once, really hard. And he forgives the stupid things I say and do.
But this time, the kids heard their mother go completely bonkers. Ainsley straightened up really quick and started complying with every command. She picked up her toys, made her bed, put clothes away, all in an effort to be allowed to keep her allowance for the week. Ian locked himself into the bathroom and refused to participate. I was stunned. Here I was, attempting to scream and bully my children into understanding that they must pick up after themselves, and Ian was smart enough to "just say no". He was testing me to see if I really would throw away the toys that were on the floor. This just made me even more furious. Insolence on top of blowzy care for the place in which we live! Intolerable!
The kids were spared the experience of seeing their beloved possessions hit the driveway in a Hefty bag, because my loving husband arrived home in time to help me see that I was exhausted, not angry. Our children are sloppy, but they are not criminally stupid. And every once in a while I am allowed to wish that our life was normal.
Almost immediately, I realized that this is normal.
After I put myself back together enough to face my children and apologize, they surprised me by seating me at the dinner table (Cafe Graham) and presenting me with a hand written menu (Crayola marker on craft paper), which listed several delicious choices that would be prepared to my own specifications (microwave-reheated leftovers). Steve served as Head Chef and Ian was Head Waiter and Sou Chef. He had an old cloth diaper draped over his arm, on which he proudly showed me the label on the new bottle of Heinze Ketchup. He even adopted a slight British accent, the elegance of which played well with his uniform of choice - underwear.
I guess what it all boils down to is this: even the person who keeps it together for the rest of the family is entitled to blow off a little steam now and then. Those who she spends 24/7 caring for and worrying about will still love her and let her stay, despite the mean things she has said in a monstrous rage, because that's what families do. And maybe, eventually, some of the lessons that were intended to make sense will start to sink in.
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