It’s New Years Eve and I just screamed at my kids, sending them to bed early for really bad behavior. Yep, I’m that mom. The “no fun for you” kind. But I never meant to be that. So here I am at my desk while my husband attends the family party, because I lost it.
My sink is full of slimy dishes and I have 2 loads of laundry calling me to fold them. The house is relatively quiet and clean. I even bought my husband apology bedroom attire because we had a huge fight this week and it was at least mostly my fault. He apologized already and let me sleep in for the last two days so it seemed the least I could do.
I had such high hopes for today and maybe that’s part of the problem. I hoped for a good start to the new year kind of day. The kind that can’t help but make tomorrow that much better.
I’d love to blame all the issues on someone, and I can come up with a few easy scapegoats, but really I’m no good at crazy.
Which is ironic considering I chose, on purpose, to have 7 kids, yep 7. Some days it feels like 45. They couldn’t be the quiet book-wormy, knowledge-thirsty people like my family. Nope. They had to be just like me. Pick the hardest road, learn from your scars, forge your own path, and screw the system kinda people.
Even as much as I’m totally at peace with who I am, 7 of myself with varying degrees of trauma us a little much at the end of the year.
So Happy New Year. I resolve to not kill my kids, write more, have more great sex, yell less in public so as to embarrass my guy less, and shower daily.