This is getting harder - #9
This my giant sad face after a particularly rough day.
Is it just me, or is this getting harder?
We’re at the end of week 4 of our quarantine and I don’t know about anyone else, but in my home, things feel like they are getting harder—not easier. We have not settled into a new normal. There is barely a schedule or structure to any day, except for lunch/nap/rest time. Work is picking up. Schedules are harder to manage. And my kids are getting harder to manage, too.
Liam, my smart, curious, creative, theatrical guy, who has always loved learning and creating and asking questions has taken little to no interest in participating in his class every morning, or completing any “homework.” He used to come home from school with 25 drawings or creations each day, and now I can barely get him to color (an activity I was banking on to save my sanity.) He used to wake up, make his bed, brush his teeth and pick up after himself. Now he needs to be threatened/bribed to do just about anything. Any semblance of manners have all but disappeared (think belching and farting and constant potty talk). And while he’s always pushed boundaries, he’s become more comfortable either just blatantly disobeying, or ignoring us, or manipulating us into agreeing to something that the other has said “no” to. As I type this, he’s upstairs eating a Fruit Roll-up that he asked his Dad for while I was a work call, knowing full well that I had already taken away his dessert as a consequence. {eyeroll} This same child also looked at me in the eyes the other day and said, “You’re rubbish.”
This is not my kid.
Connor, my sweet-natured bruiser boy, whom I can usually always count on for a snuggle or a hug, does and wants everything his brother does. So you can only guess how that’s playing out. In other words, his level of sass, is next level. He’s two, so I cut him a little slack, but I’m getting too used to hearing “NO” and “NUFING” accompanied with hands on the hips, or arms crossed, and “I’m mad, hmph!” Connor, my never-miss-a-meal kid, who will usually eat anything that’s offered to him, has taken to not eating anything, and is only interested in PB&J, Mac & Cheese, fruit, applesauce and fruit snacks. He’s gone to bed without dinner more times than I can count in the past weeks. He refuses to change out of his pajamas, and he also won’t do his assignments. This child looked at my and said, “I’m not playing with you, you’re not my best friend!”
This is not my kid.
As for me? I’m tired.
I”m tired of looking around my home and seeing mess. I’m tired of seeing a sink full of dishes, or my table covered in arts & crafts, or my ottoman littered with crushed Goldfish and Legos, or dried Play-Doh smashed into my rugs and floors.
I’m tired of being the only one who cares about the mess.
I’m tired of sharing space.
I’m tired of feeling resentful of my husband, who continues to be the favorite with the boys, and resentful because has more patience than me.
I’m tired of saying things like “Because I said so!” or “Can you listen?”
I’m tired of threatening and counting to five.
I’m tired of the not listening and the whining and the bickering.
I’m tired of loading and unloading the dishwasher.
I’m tired of being told “I’m mean.”
I’m tired of cooking meals that no one eats.
I’m tired of feeling guilty, stressed, anxious and sad.
This is not me.
Mostly, I’m really tired of doing all the things and yet, doing nothing. Because that’s the crux of it, right? We are supposed to now have all of this “extra” time, but in fact, I feel like I have less time before, and all of it is spent trying to do something but actually accomplishing nothing. For example, in the one hour break that I took from writing this post, I:
Responded to emails, but didn’t hit send
Started to work on feedback for a project
Made lunch for the boys
Started making soup, but only got as far as peeling the sweet potatoes
Started cleaning the kitchen
Started a list of what needs to be cleaned in our house
Started unloading the dishwasher
So many things, and only one accomplished.
This is really hard, and it’s getting harder. Most days this week, I have, or have wanted, to cry.
It is so much to try to manage being present for work projects and teammates, being present for the boys, trying to help them with whatever activities they want to do, IF we can get them to want to do anything, getting ourselves outside, taking care of myself as well…it’s too much.
Our kids are relying on us more and wanting us more. And they don’t understand that even though now we are more accessible, but less available. I can’t explain what it feels like when I try get Connor or Liam set up with something to do so I can get some work done and I hear, “Mommy, will you play with me?”
When client calls collide.
And I get it. I know that the reason they are acting out more is because they are screaming for our attention, and our love and comfort. I hate that my interactions with them this week have been so tense. I hate how many times in the day I feel annoyed, by them, or overwhelmed by their presence, and how I’m short with them. They have such big feelings right now—clearly, so do I. Even though they tell me that they don’t miss school, I know they do. I know they miss their friends. I miss mine, too.
And look, I get that my particular perspective on this is privileged. I recognize that what I’m complaining about means that we are balancing two full-time jobs with two active, healthy boys within the walls of a just-big-enough home that is safe. But, I think I can be privileged, recognize that I’m privileged, and still be allowed to feel all of this, because THIS IS HARD.
I think all of us are living our own versions of dystopia. Parents of older kids are likely fighting other battles, while single/childless folk may be lonely, while grandparents might be missing their kids and grandkids, or maybe even a parter who’s somewhere they can’t visit.
I guess I just thought by now, we’d be a little more settled. It’s like the novelty has worn off, right? And the longer this goes on, the more feelings we have, the more stress, anxiety, guilt builds up, and the the to-do lists get longer, etc.
You know how when you’re a new mom, or a mom of a newborn, and after you put the baby to bed, you feel all full of hope for the next day? You lay the baby down, enjoy some wine, and then close your eyes, thinking about how tomorrow, you’ll wake up before the baby to work out, and you’ll take a shower, and you and the baby will get out for a walk, and you’ll do some errands, catch up on some shows, grab a nap, cook dinner…
Except then, the baby wakes up approximately 5 minutes after your head hits the pillow and you’re up all night resenting your sleeping spouse, having anxiety about why your baby isn’t crying, and actually taking care of your non-sleeping baby, so by the time morning comes, you are resigned to just snuggling and lounging with the baby all day?
Except now, instead of being a new mom, or a mom to a newborn, I’m a working mom, and a mom to two boys, and we’re in a quarantine. And after they go to bed, and I finally get some peace and quiet and had some wine, checked some things off my to-do list, I go to bed with hope for the next day. I will wake up at about 5am, get in a few solid hours of uninterrupted work, as well as a workout, and a shower, all before anyone else is awake. I’ll answer some emails, go to some meetings, finish that ONE deliverable, and then the boys and I will finally get to some of those activities that I’ve saved on Instagram and Pinterest. We’ll bust out some worksheets, do some science experiments, get outside at least twice. They’ll do some yoga and relax while I cook dinner, and then they’ll watch TV or their tablets for the first time that day. We’ll all sit down at the table together for dinner, have a bath and everyone is in bed by 7:30pm, and I will definitely not drink (another) bottle of wine.
Except then, I’m really tired from getting a terrible night’s sleep because I’ve been tossing and turning with anxiety, so I hit my snooze button 37 times, and don’t wake up until about 7:30am, and then I get up and go downstairs with the intention of working out, but I get sidetracked by making breakfast for a little one, or answering emails or cleaning messes from the night before. And then before I know it, it’s time for a client call that I haven’t “gotten ready” for, and when that’s done it’s somehow lunchtime , then nap time, and then it’s 5:30 and I have to start cooking dinner, and we haven’t been outside twice, or done any worksheets, or any activity from Instagram or Pinterest, or really anything educational at all, and then the boys are eating dinner (or protesting eating dinner) at the counter, alone, watching TV, while I have a little wine with my dinner that I eat by myself in another room, and then it’s bedtime and here I am again, with peace and quiet, and I should really just finish the bottle of wine so it’s not there to tempt me tomorrow.
Yeah. This is like that.
Have a great weekend friends, and here’s hoping next week is better.
XOXO
Rach
