A Hilariously Real Day in the Life of a SAHM
Act 1: Good Morning Beautiful Blessed Day…
7:15 am- The sun arises with a glorious glow. The natural light filters through the sheer curtains, bringing reality in slowly, peacefully, caressing my beautifully refreshed face as if I am truly blessed by God himself in that moment.
7:15:30 am- Before I am fully awake I thank God for my blessings and pray for a peaceful day in which I can hear his voice clearly, be a good mother, showing my children His love. They are the light of my life.
7:16 am- I open my eyes slowly and while trying to focus on the soft, peaceful light, a child’s face, stained with the remnants of frozen blueberries and Cheetos enters rather suddenly into my field of vision and screams, “BOOOOOO!”
Fully awake now, I open my eyes a little more, and realize that my focus is not lying to me, as I’d hopped, and that there really is a child sneaking into my room trying to scare me into a jarred sense of awake.
I curse (in my mind because, the child) and drag myself from the warm covers, ever so slightly less thankful than I was a moment ago, yet still vowing to have a good day.
7:18 am- I pad downstairs whilst trying to avoid the cat’s attempt to murder me with her leg weaving, and telling my kid that he can NOT have more Cheetos for breakfast.
7:19 am- I realize my husband took the last of the coffee before work and I make a mental note to write a strongly worded text to him later. For now, I make more coffee while continuing to field even more questions from my sweet early bird, sleep-watching, ever so slightly creepy child.
7:36 am- Coffee, breakfast, and general chaos ensues as all of my precious blessings are awake now.
12:00 ish pm- Gourmet lunch is served. It’s a beautiful smorgasbord of choices: leftover spaghetti, PB&J, and tomato soup. I think I’ve covered all my bases- no beans, no BBQ sauce, and no meat. *Whew*
12:00:05 pm- “You forgot my milk, mommy!”
“I don’t like this kind of soup, mom!”
“PB&J AGAIN?” *while slumping dramatically in chair*
I feel a slight twinge of annoyance but am happy to be able to feed my children even with the complaining. After all, they’re only children.
When my 3 year old throws his sandwich to the dog because, “It’s disgusting,” my mind’s cursing begins anew, and a little louder this time. I wonder what my kids would NOT complain about for lunch and toy with the idea of feeding them cookies and skittles tomorrow, letting them get stomach aches, and then when the complaining starts, saying, “I told you so,” but quickly realize that I am better than this. I love my children, even though their ungratefulness irritates me.
Act 2: I’m Sure Blessed, But a Little Tired…
3:00 pm- The house has been quiet for a little too long and I call for my kids. Within 5 seconds of hearing all but the 3 year old, I assume he is strangling or choking somewhere and frantically search the house while subconsciously envisioning what I will say to the 911 operator in mental preparation for the assumed emergency. After rampaging up the stairs with the fury of a mother grizzly, I find him, naked, playing in the bathtub with his bath toys. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize he is unable to turn on the water, and he isn’t dead or dying.
3:15 pm- The witching hour is upon my household. The 3 year old has left the tub, but is still sans clothing, and every living, breathing being in the house believes it is time for dinner and begins the moaning sounds of starvation. I tell the dogs to go lay down and assure them they will eat soon. I then calmly explain to my kids that a small snack is the only thing they can have right now and despondency ensues.
One child melts into the floor in agony.
Yet another feels that flopping his body around the kitchen, bumping into cabinets and causing a general ruckus will help somehow.
I wonder why my head hurts and plead with the less than loving, and surprisingly ugly thoughts toward my children to be quiet. I am having bad thoughts toward my children; I am not a bad mom. I repeat this mantra.
3:22 pm- the moaning, melting and flopping has ceased, but melancholy and the occasional whine has struck my kids over their lack of food situation.
I surprise myself by thinking out loud, “You all are really driving me crazy today!” To which my dramatic, melt-to-the-floor, sleep-watching, early-bird child scream-sobs:
“YOU WOULD *SLOBBER-SNORT* BE UPSET TOO IF YOUR MOM *SLURP-SNORT* NEVER FED YOU!”
I try, with the strength of a thousand suns to hold my tongue but my lips make an unfortunate parting move and angry verbal diarrhea spills out at my child.
He stomps off to his room mumbling how I don’t even love him and I wonder at that moment if I would have pushed so hard 7 years ago had I seen this play out in my mind back then?
I quickly scold myself for thinking such a thing, and think, that’s silly, of course I would have, as my eyes dart up and to the left.
Act 3: I Could Toss the Whole Lot Out the Window and Start a New Life…
Time unknown O’clock because I have lost my mind at this point- Dinner is served and I swear to my newly arrived husband that if one more child complains about what I made them I will lose it. He looks at me nervously, and I know he understands the stakes here.
My kids contort themselves into various positions at the dinner table and make faces at their food, but because of the come-to-Jesus talk my husband gives them, no one utters a negative food comment. I pretend that I am at a restaurant and everyone is enjoying dinner.
2 minutes into dinner- the 3 year old stands up on his chair and announces, “I pooped.” My older children scoff and screw up their faces to show their disgust while telling him how gross he is.
“Oh shut it!” I surprise myself by snapping. “You all did the same thing and probably worse when you were little!” No one breathes and my kids and husband stare at me with wide eyes and I know they are thinking, “she’s finally lost it.”
I huff away from the dinner table mumbling angrily to my husband that he can deal with them for the rest of the night. I have lost that loving feeling alright, and I simply can’t stand the sight of those bratty kids anymore! I go to my room and cry.
*I cry for myself, feeling so very angry and under appreciated.*
*I cry because I want to go on vacation without any of them.*
*I cry because that is a terrible, and wonderful thought.*
*I cry for my husband, who has worked all day and now comes home to a crazy wife.*
*I cry for my kids who I just lost it on and who were probably undeserving of such a reaction.*
*I cry for kids everywhere who are mistreated by their parents and wonder if I am one of those parents.*
9:42pm- I fall asleep to the sound of rain on my sound machine and think before I drift away, I just need to take more breaks, and give myself a little grace during my day. This will be better tomorrow.
Day 2, Act 1: I am so Very Lucky and Blessed…
7:13 am- I wake to the soft morning glow of the sun kissing my golden cheeks, warmth and comfort; inviting me to rise afresh. I think about how I truly love my children, and that I am so blessed to be able to stay home with them. I silently pray for this to be a great day, and for God to give me patience, and grace. I feel truly at peace.
I open my eyes and I see a child with Cheeto, and blueberry-stained lips breathing on me…