I am stressed.
I’m tired, I’m worn out, I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m fraying at the edges. For goodness sakes, don’t pull a thread. I’ll completely unravel.
So is The Accountant.
And he keeps pulling at my edges. Don’t worry, I’m doing some serious pecking back at him. In fact, do worry about that. It’s not doing either of us any favours. It results in a howling fight when something simple happens. Like when I went to feed the babies.
And I find that there is no container of homemade baby food that should be in the fridge.
Because The Accountant fed it to the dog.
Yes, that’s right. The dog. There were at least two meals there. That’s six meals for any one baby. A lot of baby food. Oh dear. Yell I did.
His disclaimer was that he checked with me first.
Which he did.
He had held up a container. “Should I throw this out?”
“Is it chicken soup?” asks I. “If so, yes. It’s old.”
“Yeah. It looks like something.” says he.
It was mashed pumpkin, choko and pear.
“Yum, yum.” says the dog.
“How did that look like chicken soup?” I storm at him next day.
“It looks horrible and smells bad.” is his defense.
But it’s more then crying over lost baby food.
After nine months of interrupted sleep. I’m so weary. And for the last week the babies haven’t been having long enough sleeps during the day. I’m trying to feed them more. Adjust sleeping times. Vary the routine. It’s just not happening. They are tired though. Which means extra grizzles from them. It seems that I’m constantly trying to settle down more than one baby at a time, and not able to settle down more then one baby because nobody is completely settled before I move to the next one.
I’ve people around all the time. I love and appreciate them all. But sometimes I just want my own space. And then, in the irony of life, I want to be with people as well. My regular groups that I’ve been a part of over the years and loved, like my church home group and my mother’s group disintegrated last year. Right when I need them. I’m still friends with the people. We still catch up occassionally. And if you are one of those people reading this, don’t feel bad. I know it’s life, I don’t blame you. I could be organising get togethers as well. But there’s just something about a regular meeting. You don’t need to organise catch ups. You just meet. It’s easy and it’s supportive. Of course the other irony is, often I’m relieved that there isn’t the stress of having to go somewhere consistently.
Meanwhile, I’m having massive problems with the two older boys. T-Star is throwing full on mega two year old tantrums. J Boy’s behaviour is truly atrocious. Completely abominable. I’m embarrassed. I’m upset. I’m at a loss and don’t know what to do. They are both are children with a strong will. It’s going to be a wonderful asset when they are men. If they get to that point. Right now, I have my doubts. I am so often saying all the wrong things. The experts. They’d eat me alive. There is so much room for improvement it’s not funny.
Yesterday I packed a suitcase for J Boy so he could move out of home.
It was the first time he had threatened to run away.
He had been completely naughty. Total meltdown when asked to do his homework. He had refused point blank to follow any instruction. Moments where you are at complete loss (happens often right now) shouldn’t be allowed to happen when one is so sleep deprived. All I could do was pray for divine guidance, because me. I was out of tricks.
And so he wanted to run away. I offered to pack his bags because I agreed. He needed to leave, he wasn’t participating as a member of our family. God had placed his Daddy and I as his leaders and he was rejecting our leadership and refusing to be considerate to his siblings. So it was time for him to leave our family. He started wailing. He really thought I was throwing him out on the streets. It broke my heart. He has no idea how deeply I love him. So I cried as well.
It had full dramatic impact.
He’s crying saying he didn’t want to go. I’m crying saying I don’t want him to go and I’m going to miss him. “Mummy,” he sobs, “I need to stay here for you to keep me safe.”
“I know,” sobs I, “What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” Sobs him. “I don’t know where I’ll live. I’ll come back Mummy. I’ll come back when I’m good.”
We were able to sit down again and talk about what is necessary for him to be a part of our family. We hold hands and pray. He finally does his homework. And then in a tiny voice he asks. “Am I allowed to stay in our family now?” Break. My. Heart.
Anyway. That’s all I want to say for now. There are hard patches in life. I’m hitting one right now. If you are the praying type. Please pray for me. I really need it.
|One of the many sad faces in our home of late.|