As most of you that read these know (it has been eons since I have written), I work from home with twins. I am super lucky, I know; there is a laundry list of reasons that I am grateful to have the opportunity to do so, and why I am lucky to be able to do so. Like every SAHM, there is a breaking point. Everyone has a breaking point. You can have the patience of Job and have a breaking point. I have had several.
This week, we are finalizing move number four in the past year. We are wrapping up, putting furniture into PODS, cleaning, herding cats (not real ones, toddler ones)… In the midst of it all, we are finding time to work, be with each other, and take care of two assholes that happen to be a beautiful extension of us. Why do I call them assholes? Because I can. More importantly, because it is true because they love me so much it hurts.
I was able to get out yesterday for roughly four hours by myself. Hubby took the day off to move and take care of the girls while I ventured out and met with one of my vendors. It was glorious! I turned my radio up all the way, went over the speed limit (sorry Nana and Papa, lol), and took a longer route home. I had an excellent meeting with fellow adults and mothers and discussed how we could make my program better and work together to do so. I was so excited that I called my supervisor on the way home.
I scooped up more diapers and meandered back to the house. I pulled up, radio volume down because I don’t want to blast my babies out the windows with Post Malone on our next outing, and spotted hubby loading up a POD.
“They’ve been great! No crying at all!”
(Well that’s f$%@ing weird, I think)
We walk inside, talking, and my two little angels hear my voice. Instantly, one comes running from the living room, arms outstretched, screaming and crying. She puts her head between my knees and wraps her arms around my legs, the other, walking on her knees, angrily slaps her hips and screams. I can no longer hold a conversation with my husband due to the screams. He looks at me in disbelief.
“They were not like this at all while you were gone.”
I pick one up, the other screams louder. I put one down, screaming commences. Non-stop cycle of hell.
The day wears on and I think more and more about it. They’re terrible when I am around. Absolutely terrible. It hurts. Why can’t they be good with me? I mean, I am a well-meaning person with a laundry list of things I intend to get to, but all either go unfinished, or are sloppily done and half-cocked because there is so much screaming and needs.
My husband asserts his dadness and they seem to listen, sipping their bottles and watching cartoons. That’s where my breaking point came into play. He wanted to try to reason with me and explain that “this is what you should do” because it is apparent that what I am currently doing is not working. I lose it. Through my tears, hubby is able to understand as he always does… It is like any relationship. You are most comfortable with your spouse, so you tend to take more things out on them or talk to them in a way that you would never talk to a friend or coworker. While you want to tell that one coworker off, or hand them the business section, you won’t, but with your spouse – hell yeah, bring it, you will!
At that exact moment, the doorbell rang, tears running down my mom cheeks. It is our neighbor. Like some sort of angel, she rings the doorbell holding a bottle of Patron Reposado. I come around the corner, unashamed of what I look like because she has twins too and has been there. I look slight cringe.
“My husband said you were out. I think you guys need this.”
Olivia hears our neighbor’s voice and comes running and crying. O absolutely loves her! Our neighbor scoops her up and calms her.
She comes in and talks to us, mentioning exactly what we were discussing at the exact moment she decided to come to our rescue – you are always most comfortable with the ones you are with the most.
And this morning, as I poured through my emails before the start of the day, I documented my chaos. A dumpster diver, a diaper defalcator, and a vacuum-obsessed toddler. This is my crazy life. (captions provided)
All breakfast thrown on the floor
By the way, my cleaning lady sucks.
Not for you.