Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Every day

Every day I spend hours rocking the baby to sleep, long past the time that the rest of the kids fell asleep, long past the time that makes an acceptable bedtime. 

Every morning I wake the same baby during her morning sleep to drive the rest of the kids to their destinations.

Every afternoon, I scream like a banshee because the house is a disaster, I'm covered in spit up, the dinner is not ready, or not cleaned up, and somebody still has schoolwork and the temerity to ask about watching TV. 

Every day I get a forward with amusing something or other from one of the grandmas. 

Every day my mother calls, asking me to call when I can. 

Every day I wonder whether my husband will be home for dinner or bedtime, whether he will bother to tell me.

Every day my son asks why I yell so much.

Every day whatever gets started does not get finished. 

Every day I'm solving yesterday's dilemmas, cleaning up yesterday's mess, checking yesterday's schoolwork. 

Every day I yearn for connection beyond superficiality, but I have no time and energy for one. 

Every day feels like an escalator from which I cannot get off. 

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