Neverending Story

Today was another one of those days. You know the kind. Not really great, not really bad but certainly ENDLESS. You start out late even if you got up early. I woke up at maybe 3, then 4 then every 20 minutes thereafter due to the teething young gentlemen laying beside me. (Yes, I do let him sleep in the bed with me pretty often. Don't judge me, I am 37 and this is my 5th kid so I feel like I can do what I want! :) And so I end up fussing at kids who can't really move any faster than a snail unless you suddenly shout something random like SUGAR, Happy Meal, I see Toys!
I have days when I feel I can breathe and days when I feel like I have forgotten how. Have you ever realized you have been holding your breath and you don't really have a reason? Its like you get so caught up in getting everything on your list done that everyone around you sortof becomes invisible or annoying or both if thats possible. But aren't they the reason for all that doing? I stopped several times today while doing various tasks ~ mountains of laundry, sweeping the kitchen floor for the 3rd time at 10 AM, putting away 27 small plastic cups that won't fit into the drawer yet everyday I keep cramming them in there in the same manner as the one before, and I said to myself outloud "who does this?" I mean really, Who has to buckle 5 kids into a minivan with her rear end sticking out the door while trying not to cuss loud enough for anyone within earshot of the car to hear yet not worrying that the children five inches from her face are hearing it. I do, that's who. Yep I can't hold my tongue. Its like a pressure cooker in my house, car, yard, anyplace we are all together and if I have one of those breath holding, too much to do and not enough universe to contain all the crap that goes along with a peck of children days ~ I let it rip or maybe slip. I always regret it but it does let off some steam. I am not proud of it, I am working on it. I certainly don't recommend it. Its just something about me that is what it is. An imperfection. We don't generally get to pick our imperfections. If I could I think I would make myself a picky eater. You know the kind who would rather not eat at all than have to eat something that's not what they want. I can't even imagine that. I love to eat and it doesn't have to be that good. I just like the process of stopping what I'm doing and focusing on me as I direct food toward my own mouth instead of the other seven I have to feed (I am including the dog in that count in case you are wondering.) So now instead of going to bed early like I should, I am blogging and getting the nods while also watching Whatever Martha! on the Fine living channel which is free this month from my satellite provider. As I look out over the top of my lap top screen, I see a pile of laundry waiting to be cussed at as I throw it into the proper place in the laundry room. Maybe that is my answer, more cussing at inanimate objects and less in front of impressionable young ears.