The person who wrote “the days are long, but the years are short,” was not a stay at home mom in the 7th circle of hell – also known as the last month of summer break.  Nor were they a mom with threenagers and teenagers and everything in between in the same house.  No, they could not have been, this stuff is brutal.  The days, the weeks, the years seem never ending and I am struggling to find the visible end of this wind tunnel.  These are the days where I am both yelling about everything and not caring about anything. “Pick up your wet towels! Shut the door! Don’t hit! Be kind! No food on the couch! Why is there food on the couch?! Shut the door!….Sure you can have a popsicle for breakfast.  Yes I’ll sign you into the Xbox for more mindless droning.  I don’t care if you eat all the graham crackers and nothing else today…just don’t ask me things.” 

For the love of all things holy, if only they wouldn’t ask things, every single second of every single moment of every single day, for eternity.  No these days aren’t long they are torture! I think this tactic could work on getting criminals to break, trap them in a house for a weekend with oh 4-10 kids of varied ages and needs and force them to answer their questions. 

Its during this home stretch of summer “break” where we find ourselves saying things like “don’t do things your not supposed to do if you don’t want me to be a jerk.” and “Do you like crazy mommy?!” 

My husband gets 60 texts a day reporting all the insane antics that are happening. Because I wouldn’t want him to miss some of these priceless moments. Like, why do I have to question what this perfectly round wet spot is on your bedroom rug, son?  Why do I have to smell it and now know its urine?  Is it your urine, son?  It is? Of course it is, because why the …. heck not?! 

These roommates are the worst. 

I don’t need a nap, I need a long winters sleep.  I need someone to field the barrage of questions.  I think there should be an emergency number we can call, like 911, where we can say help if I don’t go to Starbucks right now someone is going to die…and then an au pair arrives at your door and you run for it.  These are the things I think about when I am in the shower and I can hear a voice yelling “make me a burrito” through the door.  Because, I live for them, solely. 

That must be it. 

And yet all the while I am still kissing booboos and bandaging specks of blood.  Pulling out splinters and giving hugs to children needing to be touched and noticed…even though it feels as though it is literally sucking the life force out of me. I am gathering butt loads of wet towels and washing them so they can wet them all up again.  I am here.  Even when they think I am not.  Even when they think I just ignore them.  I am here working on keeping my sanity to be who they need me to be. 

All because the kids are short…I mean, the years, the years are short. 

At the end of the day, these are my people…this is my tribe.  I love them, I pray for them, and I want them to have it easier than its been.  And when I am writing they leave me alone, like right now.  (Maybe I should write another 500 words…better not push it, bliss turns to blisters so fast sometimes.)

We do have a little fun around here too…

 

 

And final note: The person who wrote “the days are long, but the years are short.” is Gretchen Rubin and I love her, and all of her amazing books and podcasts about happiness and life…you should too! www.gretchinrubin.com