I'm starting to lose all faith in the weekends.
In my former life--the one where I got to do whatever I wanted on the weekends, which usually revolved around sleeping until eleven or so, having coffee in bed, then reading all day before a fun night out with Blaker--I lived for the weekends. Most people do, no? Weekends were the time to relax, to recharge, to savor the life that you worked so hard during the week to create for yourself.
As a parent, and specifically as a stay-at-home Mom, I have no weekend. Every day is the same. Saturday is no different from Wednesday, except that more often than not Blaker is able to spend the day with us. I used to at least look forward to that, because having Blaker home took a little of the pressure off of me and afforded us a little time together that we weren't able to have on the weekdays. However, as the kids have gotten older and things have gotten only more hectic, the bliss of Saturday and Sunday has completely disintegrated into something painful and exhausting for the entire family.
Blaker and I are so tired, but the kids still have their boundless energy, and little bodies whose internal clocks are set to wake up at 6am. The children have reached an age where they bicker nearly nonstop. Sutton wants to get a rise out of Belly (not hard to do) so he touches her on the arm. Belly, being the drama queen that she is, begins to wail and fake sob. Hitting, pushing, and screaming usually ensues before we're able to get the episode nipped. These theatrics are not particularly enjoyable at any hour (although can occasionally be entertaining after a second cocktail), but are even less so when the sun has not yet risen and you have only been back to sleep for about an hour from assuring one kid or another that there are no monsters in the closet for the fifth time that night. And on the weekends, when we are all always together, this just goes on and on in a loop that never ends.
When one wakes up grumpy, moods tend to go downhill from there, at least in our household. Listening to the kids argue over breakfast, fight while they play, and constantly ask for things they are perfectly capable of handling themselves will wear anybody out. Trust me. By the time we are all fed and dressed and ready to do something--anything!--Blaker and I are both so irritable we can barely speak to anyone and the kids are already to the point that they need a nap. Everyone is hot (I hate summer in Suffolk), tired, and very, very cranky. We don't usually recover.
Now that Bellamy has started kindergarten, weeks are much easier. I miss my girl, but from 8:15am until 3:30pm, I'm down to one kid who still takes a decent nap and has no one to argue with for an entire seven hours. It's probably as close as this Mommy can get to heaven right now. Whenever I think about how great it is, I start to feel terribly guilty, but frankly, it's true. It's wonderful. Blaker is at work, so I'm not worrying about the kids making him crazy. I have a little peace and quiet for a little window of time, which is more than I've had in years (my kids rarely napped at the same time).
So now I look forward to Mondays, which may or may not make me a bad wife and mother. Regardless, it does make me much more sane.