Sometimes things dont get done. The pile of laundry in the corner of my bedroom is as tall as me, my kitchen hasn't been mopped in months, and I cant even see the floor of my children's bedroom.
I think the last time I truly deep cleaned one room was literally December. It's now May. There are dirty dishes that have sat by my sink for literal months, always getting glanced over for more pressing dishes, like sippy cups and spoons.
Sometimes I feel insane- seeing things where others dont, making mountains out of molehills. I wonder if anyone else feels the weight of the chaos pressing in on them, trying to swallow them into the black void that is MESS.
I reach to make a real dinner from scratch, not from a box, and things are squishy that shouldn't be.
The children are screaming. And when there's silence I turn around to see more mess- fabric pieces thrown everywhere like confetti. But I cant rush to put it away because I have chicken on high heat, and it's almost done. One minute is the difference between cooked and burnt.
They're hitting eachother. Screaming at eachother. Nothing I'm doing is helping. I know that my children won't even eat what I made. Why am I even doing this to myself?
They brought toys into the kitchen. Every step must be thought out carefully if I don't want to stick to the floor. Or worse, slip and pour everything on top of myself.
There's some kind of loud rattling coming from outside, like someone decided to make themselves a nuts and bolts smoothie. I can't get the clamor of screaming kids, the kitchen timer, and this unknown noise from pressing in.
It's a different noisy now. After husband finally woke up from his nap. After fleeing the house. The birds are singing. There's the swooshing of cars as they drive past. But my mind can only help me type as my heart continues to pound. My teeth ache, I forgot I've been clenching my jaw.
I wonder how other mothers do it. If they too shove their children in their bedroom and pray that they just come out alive in a half hour. If they contemplate just letting their children wander outside by themselves and become some other poor soul's problem.
A familiar yet hated cage, this stay at home mom situation. I feel guilty for sitting by myself and working alone for a few hours everyday. I feel guilty for wanting to leave. To plan time outside of the house, because it becomes harder and harder to find available and willing babysitters.
I crave freedom. I crave being outside, but I hate leaving my home. Because people are scary. They will see me and know that I'm a terrible mother. They will see my children and hate them because they aren't clean enough, nice enough, smart enough. They will hate me and wish that I didnt exist, they will see me and my spawnlings as a burden. And all the effort and work I do is for nothing.
Today is a hard day, harder when my spouse is already tired, already done with the few hours he spent with the kids. And it's my turn again to pull the chaos into some kind of familiar order.
It's exhausting, this life of work never being done. And it won't ever be enough. Hindsight will plague me with would's and should's. Because experience hasn't proved to me otherwise.
This isn't the worst day ever. It's not even a bad day compared to most. Despite that, here I am typing my thoughts in a cemetery not wanting to go home.
Usually I'm good with tying in some kind of lesson I want people to learn. Perhaps today is that the ordinary can be unbearable.
