Yesterday was a bad day. Just a bad day. A day can go along for a while, and then all of a sudden something as mundane and ordinary as a cookie just completely changes everything.
And you can’t get out from under the cloudy gray suffocating feeling of whatever it is.
And you can see, right in front of you all that you have, but you can’t seem to appreciate it.
And every time you can come up for air, you feel it pulling you under again.
I went to sleep last night hoping today would be better.
But I woke up.
I sent the kids off to school, and then laid down with Ella to try to sleep off the whatever it is.
And then they came home.
And they made noise.
And he started in again with the cookies.
And how he never gets anything good.
And how he hates going to CCD. How boring it is.
And I just didn’t have the energy to argue.
And I whispered to the boy…Please, please don’t make this like yesterday. Please.
And he looked sorry.
And then the little one woke up.
And I gave her some cheese and some crackers.
And she got mad because I opened the cheese rather than letting her try.
And then she got mad because she broke her cheese.
And I showed her how to stack it and make it like a cracker and cheese cake.
And then the other boy began with the noise making. Just noise. Yahoo. And “pants on the ground.” And moans and groans. And shooting sounds. And jingle bells. And buh buh buh buh…
And the little one went to get paper and came back screaming because it was crumpled into a ball. Because she crumpled it into a ball. I don’t know why, and I don’t get it.
And I clenched my fists and I gritted my teeth and I didn’t want to yell but I could feel it coming. Rising. And I knew it was going to come out and then out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl, watching me and I just closed my eyes and quietly said stop it.
And I scrubbed the sink. And I sobbed. They couldn’t see my tears. And they couldn’t hear me over the running water, steamy and hot and burning my hands. But they knew. And the little one kept crying. Pick me up. Pick me up. And she hung on me.
And I wondered how I got to this place. How I came to this foul, stinking place of total and complete frustration.
Why are all these people making noise? Why does everyone have to talk to me at once? Why do they make noise for the sake of making noise?
Why can’t it be nice? Why can’t it be pretty? Why can’t it be lovely like it is in other homes?
I wanted to call someone. I wanted to tell them. I wanted them to hear what this is like every. single. day. And why sometimes I count the minutes until 5:00 so I can feel justified in having a glass of wine.
But it was time to take the kids to CCD. So I loaded up the car. I just wanted to get them in there and come home and put my bread in the oven and forget.
I wanted someone to tell me that it’s like this at their house, too. I wanted someone else to look like I did, with the naked tear-washed eyelashes and the messy hair.
But they were all happy. They, with their many small children. One on the hip and two by their sides, and kissing another goodbye.
They were all smiling.
They chatted with each other.
And I stood there.
And I wondered how I could feel so alone with all these people around me.
And I drove home and the house was lit and beautiful and it felt warm. And inside the smell of fresh-baked bread filled us and the soup that took two days to prepare awaited. Their noisy chatter felt less oppressive. And I knew The Man would be home soon.
And I started to feel better, if only slightly.
And I think tomorrow will be good again.