Every once in a while I look around and see that I am the source of the problem. Everyone's new cubbies look like a mess?! Oh wait... it's just that mine has exploded with stuff. Our dresser is constantly covered in crap?! Oh... my bad. Tripping over shoes in the living room? Hmm... anyone else around here wear size 9 blue suede loafers? Rats. Me again.
Last night Chris came home to chaos. Total chaos. And this time it definitely wasn't me.
Had Chris come home to bathed and pajamed little angels it would have been because I'd lost my shit and forced the kids to take a bath while I drank a mint julep and read my book. Had Chris come home to a fresh mint julep it would have been because I was drinking one and pretended like I made it for him when he opened the door. Had Chris come home to a calm quiet dinner for two it would have been because the aforementioned children had peanut butter sandwiches while contained in the bathtub.
But he didn't.
He came home to people who were hungry and tired and melting down. He came home to a wife who was drinking water and trying to finish dinner so that we could enjoy a nice peaceful meal. He came home to kids who threw tantrums at the table (one of whom literally threw his veggies in protest).
I would have made a great 1950s housewife.
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