Warning: This post is a venting session for me. If you don't care to read my ranting and griping about certain aspects of my job, this is your chance to move to another, more positive and inspiring website.
Disclosure: I love my family. When I say love, I mean the deepest love that encompasses all the different kinds and levels of love and like into one great love. Each and every person, canine, and feline. Being a stay at home mom is the best, most amazingly fantastic job I've ever had. I love being such an integral part of the lives of each and every person in this house. I love solving the problems that come up. I love taking care of the needs of everyone. I suppose it's a dream job, if the definition of dream job is one you would give your life to keep! :-)
Everyone on the planet complains about their job at some point. Some people complain a lot. Some people only complain when they have a bad day, or are anxious about an upcoming event. I think it's normal to complain about your job. Even people who work in the greatest places, and do exactly what they always dreamed they would do complain from time to time. Stay at home moms are not given the luxury to complain about their job. If a stay at home mom says one negative thing about their job, you can bet ridicule is swift in coming. I don't know why that is. Only other stay at home moms understand that you can take some time to vent your anger and frustrations with your job, and still absolutely love it. Other people take the stance that since we chose to stay home instead of going to work, A. We did this to ourselves. B. If we hate it so much, why don't we just go out and get a real job! Or C. We have no room to complain because we are really lucky to be able to do this.
I am telling you right now that I am in a bad mood. The last several days have grated my usual pleasantness, (which is debatable at the best of times), down to a grimy, nerve exposed nub. This job is a 24/7/365 job, with no sick days, very little vacation time, if any, and best of all, unpaid. I am in charge of this entire house, and every living thing in it. I am in charge of the kids, and everything they do. I am in charge of the animals, and everything they do. I am in charge of the husband, and everything he does. I am in charge of the house, and everything it encompasses. I am in charge of the bank accounts and everything they are supposed to be doing. I am in charge of the supplies coming into, and going out of this house. I am in charge of the grounds around this house. I am in charge.
My family has ducked under the illusion umbrella that says that since I am in charge of all things, I must do all things. WRONG!!! I am not the only able bodied person living within these four walls! If I assign you a job, I expect you to do it. Not just the one time I assign it to you, but forever and always until you no longer live within these four walls! When it is your turn to do the dishes, DO THEM!! Do think that because the words, "do the dishes" did fall from my lips, you are off the hook! Do think that once you done a day of yard work, you are finished with the yard until I prompt you again! Do I wait to go to the grocery store until you say to me, "Please go to the grocery store, we are starving." NO! Do I wait to make dinner until you say, "Please make dinner, we are starving." NO!!! Do I wait to vacuum and mop the floors until you say, "It's really gross in here. Will you please clean the floors?" NO!! Do I wait to do the laundry until you say, "I have no clean clothes, please do the laundry." NO!!! Yet, I have to prompt every single person in this house to do ANYTHING. ANYTHING! And this is my favorite part of prompting; I get temper tantrums and attitude from every able bodied person in this house. If I worked at a place that was this house, and was treated this way, I'd have grounds to fire each and every person who worked for me. I can't fire these people. If I worked somewhere and was in a work environment like this, I'd have grounds to go on strike. I can't go on strike here. You know what happens when I go on strike?? In the end, I have MORE work to do
Domestic issues aside, I get punched in the face, (figuratively, of course), when I come up with new ways to help the people in my charge. My oldest son has terrible communication skills, and terrible writing skills. My daughter has prohibitive anxiety problems. My youngest son does not eat and refuses to be potty trained. I won't even get into the biggest problem area for my husband. That a whole different kettle of fish. It is my job to figure out ways to help my children overcome their toughest obstacles. It is not my job to figure out ways to help my husband overcome his. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
Gabriel has trouble communicating and writing. I told him that I would like him to write one letter a week, and send it to a specific person. I suggested a person whom I thought would be happy to get a letter from him. We live far away from this person, and Gabriel does get to see them terribly often. I thought this person would like to receive regular letters, which never happens in our society of emails and texts. And, of course, I thought it would be good writing and communication practice for Gabriel. I was heartbroken when I spoke with this person on the phone, and they ripped the first letter apart.
"He can't spell to save his life. His handwriting is atrocious. He does communicate well, he kept repeating himself..."
I was so angry and hurt I couldn't even speak.
I'm going to skip over Annalise and her anxiety this post, and go to Nathan. I've been ridiculed by quite a few people because I've "given up" trying to potty train him. To those people I say this: Come and get him. Take him to your house. Work your magic. Be my guest. Apparently I'm a freaking horrible waste of the word "mother" since I can't potty train this boy. Here's the thing that nobody gets; he IS trained! He has the skill in his little brain. He knows what to do, he knows how to do it. He knows what it feels like when he has to potty, and he knows how to hold it until he gets to the potty. He does WANT to! There is positively nothing I can do about that.
I do want to hear anymore, "Have you tried..." YES, I HAVE TRIED... Breaking a child's will in this arena is something I, personally, am not going to do.
You wouldn't think potty would be an issue since he does eat. I cannot explain the deep consternation I have with this problem. I am a huge believer in, "nutrition cures all ailments." To have a child who is, for all intents and purposes, malnourished, is the biggest punch in the face I can get. His physical, cognitive, and emotional health and growth depend on his being properly nourished. The doctors are unconcerned. "He'll eat when he gets hungry enough." I've been waiting for him to be hungry enough for TWO YEARS!! He is so thin and pale. I have tried everything. The only way to get any fruit and vegetable matter into his body is through V8 juice blends. I have tried, at intervals, to make juice cocktails here at home, but he refuses them. The latest attempt was yesterday. I spent three hours preparing, juicing, and blending ten pounds of apples, two pounds of carrots, ten radishes, two bags of watercress, and one bag of baby spinach. Three hours. The juice blend I ended up with tastes like a cross between apple juice and apple cider. I kid you not! Steve even tasted it and said that it was genuinely good, and he can't stand carrot juice, never mind the juices that actually taste terrible, (radish, and the greens). Three hours of my life. Nathan took one sip, and put it back on the counter and asked for milk. When I said no, he asked for water. Going into this endeavour, I knew it was a possibility that he would reject it. I was still extremely upset. Much more upset than I should have been. Why? I do know. I just was. It won't go to waste. I'll drink it myself.
My family has been wondering what is wrong with me the past few days. After dinner, I just want to be left alone. I do want to talk to anyone. I do want to hear anyone. I do want to be around anyone. Usually on the weekends we will watch Doctor Who as a family after dinner. Everyone loves this show. It's really nice to sit and watch something that everyone enjoys that isn't Spongebob. This weekend, I was so tired, and just wanted to be left alone. They protested and said that they were going to watch it without me. I know they thought they were being sweet, not wanting me to miss an episode, but it made me angry. I was angry because what that action said to me was this, "Since you won't watch this with us, we will all suffer until you decide you are finished being selfish and agree to spend time with us again." Guilty conscious for wanting to be left alone? Probably. I can't even get a little time by myself without feeling like I'm being selfish and abandoning.
Then my psychiatrist says, "You aren't taking care of you. You need to take care of you, or this medication isn't going to do you any good. You got to do your part too, and your part is taking care of you."
Oh goody, someone else to take care of!
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