I know, I know, I usually have a picture up on Wednesdays. To be honest, I don't have it in me to do that today. Why? It's not that big of a deal, I know, but I've spent the morning picking up after people and I'm too angry to want to do anything else.
Before I go on, please know that this is a rant and a vent and I don't want suggestions right now. I just want to blow off steam so that I don't pop off some little heads that are under my (mis) management right now.
Those of you who know me IRL know that I am organizationally challenged. (Friend Gina just spewed Coke Zero at her computer screen.) Those of you who don't know, just trust me on this. At my best, with no one else to mess things up, I'm a tepid housekeeper. I have been attempting, of late, to keep up with the parts of the house that we have bulldozed so that we can at least enjoy those. We won't even discuss the downstairs because that would make me find an old spoon and start carving my wrists.
Unfortunately, I have children who don't seem to get that cleaning up after their carelessness really drives their mother up the wall. I can talk until I'm blue in the face and all they hear is "Waw waw waaaw waaaa." (Remember those Charlie Brown cartoons where that is what the adults sound like, no matter what adult it is? That's what they hear, I'm sure.) I can make them clean up their messes and yet they still mess things up. I can dock their privileges and they still do it. I will not threaten to keep them from their enrichment classes this afternoon because I paid for those and I'm not going to lose money because of their irritating way of being. And that's just the big girls.
The twins are another ball of wax. Yes, they are 3. I understand that and don't hold them to the same standards (low though they are). I do expect them to not purposely create disasters, though. By and large, Keziah does not. By and large, that is what David lives for. I told Doug as I drifted off to sleep last night that it's a shame that he doesn't commit his acts of terrorism with evil intent because then I could really get behind major punishments. He's just being gleeful in the fact that he's alive and can do all these fun things (including making Mother's face turn that very attractive shade of purple). I'm glad he's alive, I'm glad he's (reasonably) healthy but I'm sick (and tired) of picking up after him and/or standing over him to make sure that he cleans up his mess.
I will admit that I have been having fantasies of the adult world lately. The world where I am not responsible for sons who go stand in the bath water with their twin when they have been dried, slathered with lotion, and dressed for bed. The world where I can shower and dress, do my hair and put on make-up and not have it ruined in a half hour because I'm covered in mud/ditch water/blood/snot/whatever. The world where there is a clear definition of what my job is and how well I'm doing it. The job where there is some modicum of appreciation for what it is I fill my days with.
Don't get me wrong. I know that raising my children to be good Christians and good people is the most important thing I could be doing with my life. I know that in my brain but I'm not feeling it in my heart today.