“Oh, forget it!” I say. But what I really mean is “I can’t muster the energy to repeat myself again.”
“Never mind.” I grumble. But I really want to say “It isn’t fair that I have to do all of this work on my own. Listen for once and come help me.”
“It doesn’t matter.” But it does matter.
Deep in the trenches of the crazy season of an active almost four year old (how can he be almost four already?), a sassy, six year old and a five month old who’s needs are changing daily; it’s easy to feel alone.
Because the buck always stops with mommy. Yes, I have a loving and supportive husband who is an involved dad. But he is only here a few hours a day. I am the default parent. The twenty-four hour kin keeper.
Sometimes it takes too much energy to repeat myself again and I just give up trying to communicate. When no one else (by which I mean my children) can be motivated (through encouragement, cooperation or punishment) to help with the daily tasks needed to keep the house going, it falls on me.
I am neither happy homemaker nor bitter martyr, at least not yet. I’d rather toward being the former than the latter. Because, yes, I want to train them up so they can care for themselves and their households one day. But other times I don’t want to referee one more fight over whose turn it is to use the toilet brush or threaten removal of privileges just to get clothes put away and toys picked up.
I say forget it, but what I really mean is “Remember me? I don’t need a parade or a medal, I’d at least like appreciation and respect, or perhaps a little cooperation. I know I’m not owed it, but it would certainly help make these long days a bit easier.”
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