Having two kids is no joke.
I feel like my life has devolved into one of those “check a box” notes with ever changing language.
“What do you want to succeed at today? Parenting a baby or Parenting a 7 year old?”
“Which job will you be good at today? Lawyering or mothering?”
I can’t do all the things I need to do and my head is constantly full of all that I’ve left off.
Yes, I made dinner… check. But the dishes didn’t get fully washed because the baby was screaming and there are crumbs on the floor and who had time for a shower last night… is that me I smell?! My hair got straightened this morning, but make up is sloppy, clothes are wrinkled, lunch is non-existent and who says Hershey’s doesn’t make an adequate breakfast bar?
I feel like I’m drowning, y’all. Just flat out drowning. And Banks is doing everything he can to help, but there’s only so much he can do… because he doesn’t make milk and works an hour away from home. So most of the pick up, drop off, fight fight fight, is left to dear old me while he sidles to his quiet car and meanders down the road to Milledgeville. At work, I’d venture a guess that he’s focused on actual work… while I’m spending my days weighing out what is most important among all the crazy mom/lawyer/wife/homeowner jazz and just getting THAT done, damn the rest, damn the mess, and damn it all to hell and back.
How do you guys do this? How do I see your homes all shiny and perfect like a Martha Stewart showcase, your kids all well dressed in clothes without stains and rips and wrinkles? How do you do family dinners and family outings where the children are actually smiling and having fun? Because my family outings are more like a horror movie with tears in place of blood and lots of angry glances and yelled “YOU ARE HAVING FUN, DAMMIT, THIS IS WHAT FAMILIES DO SO ENJOY EVERY DAGGUM MINUTE OR WE ARE GOING HOME.” And then we get home and while all you good parents are doing crafts and tossing the football back and forth like a damn J Crew catalog photo, I’m turning on the television to whatever seems least likely to teach my kid swear words, and sinking into a chair to breathe (or cry. or drink.) for five minutes before we start this whole rush rush rush thing again.
I love my boys.
I love my life.
But I think I need a live-in nanny, a cook, a cleaner, a masseuse, and someone to just have the job of opening my booze.
I don’t know how y’all do this.
