Clearly I have had a really crappy week!
By the time I get home from my fun at work, I am exhausted. Not yawn exhausted but my-nerves-are-frayed exhausted.
I arrive home to be assaulted by dust and dirt and usually a contractor who has not arrived to finish what is supposed to be finished. Which then is an indicator that what ever was going to take x time will now take x+1 day times. (Hey I did HG Algebra I will have you know …. until I dropped to SG, because if I kept up HG, I would never pass Standard 10)
I am not exactly on a go-faster-contractor-go-faster clock or anything, but I do want the contractors to finish so they can spend less time with my family, and well, more time with theirs. (I could say I want them to fek off and leave me alone, but I was trying to find a more diplomatic way of putting it, as someone recently suggested I might not have the cleanest mouth for a blogger …. with children.)
My patience level is at an all time low, and my ability to interact with people is on the decline.
The kids have not been more (or less) difficult than normal. The problem is that by the time I have them herded into the car, and I have pulled out of the respective school parking lots, an argument has ensued between the two of them.
This is all standard practice in our drives home. I can usually switch off a bit, as my brain goes out for a little mental walk about, whilst they bicker about what ever it is that they are bickering about that day. I am however feeling a little tense and the car drives home feel like agony and an eternity.
This week, I am a little low on resources and this week, I am a bit low on everything including my ability to “act normal” when a normal situation occurs.
I get home and count the minutes until everyone goes to bed, so I can just fall down and go “thank fek I survived another day!”
On Thursday morning Connor was looking for his school shorts. He asked me where they were. I responded by getting really angry at him and telling him that he needs to get his things together in the evening and not leave it until the morning and I was blah-blah-blah lecture blah-blah-blah vent.
(My berating him for asking me where they were, did take longer than if I had just told him where they were – I subsequently noted this point!)
Connor then decided he would go and look in the spare room for his shorts.
Problem is that because of the window-framer guys, the kids are bunking together and Isabelle is sleeping in the spare room and not in her room, because there is too much dust and dirt in her room.
Connor walks in to the spare room – Isabelle wakes up, and then starts calling for me. He solves the problem by leaving the room, and closing the door, which of course (strangely enough) does not make Isabelle lie down and go back to sleep again.
The problem is now I need to stop preparing myself for work. Go pick her up, change nappy, get bottle, settle her while I am trying to get breakfast for Connor and Georgia, and strain my tea bag in my tea cup –which I desperately need.
My usual routine, is to try to get ready and then go and pick her up out of her cot.
It just makes the morning a bit less complicated, and sort of ensures that I have taken some consideration with my wardrobe – like my shoes matching for instance and I got my bra facing the correct way – I aim just for the small things.
I got annoyed with Connor – and then I screamed at him through clenched teeth: “What the hell is wrong with you! I told you to use your shorts from yesterday, you have now woken up Isabelle! What the hell is wrong with you!”
I was really angry, and I was not angry with him, I was angry with the situation I found myself in.
I was angry with my fekn company. I was angry that they did not value me enough to make an alternate plan.
I was angry that I was standing in my shortie jammies in the middle of the kitchen at 6am, and I already had grit and grime under my bare feet.
I was angry that I would not get 10 minutes to drink my tea while I prepare myself mentally to face this day.
I was angry that I had to go to work and continue to act like a mature person when all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and have a good cry.
I was angry that my financial situation is so precarious – though Kennith assures me that it is not. I am angry that I will now be more of a strain on our financial position, rather than in a position to get us into a better financial position. I was angry that now I will be more of a burden on Kennith.
I was angry that I had eaten all the damn cupcakes and the bag of Chuckles.
I was angry that there is now this issue with my mother, and I do not know how to resolve it. I am angry that there is just too much stuff to deal with.
I WAS ANGRY, and I took it out on my eight year old child because he went to look for his school shorts in the room where the washing is kept, and it would make sense that that is where it is.
I feel like such a turd! Because I was using my anger to have a go at him. Because his feeling bad, somehow made me feel better (victorious) for about 3 seconds, and then I just felt like a total total turd!
I fetched Isabelle, changed her bum, warmed her bottle, gave her a cuddle while I tried to drink my tea and not mess any of it on her (to avoid any rush visits to the burn unit at Medi Clinic).
I got dressed, herded the kids in the car and then drove to school while I alternated patting Connor on the head, and resting my hand on his leg (in a non suggestive manner), because I felt like such a stupid horrible f*kwit.
Friday followed, and when I fetched Connor I explained that I was not having the best day in the best week, in the best month, and that I was really horrible to him the day before.
It was not about him, he did nothing wrong. I was just angry and stupid and was mean to him – and I was really sorry. (I sniffed back a little chunky tear as well)
Connor said: “It’s okay mom, I understand!”
Which of course forced me to explain why it was not okay that I was horrible to him. But that I loved him and I was still a turd!
Connor likes bum humour, it cheers him up no end.
I would like Kennith to come home now, so this turd can hand over the imaginary reins of my life to him.
(This post was written on Friday, and I only posted it now, so Kennith is back, which is great.)