But I just have to complain. Or comment, because I don’t even know that it’s complaining so much as just seeking sympathy. Not that I’ll get any, really, because nobody ever comments. Which sounds bitchy, I’m sorry.
But man, by the end of the day, I’m freaking exhausted. It’s unbelievably tiring sometimes. There are parts of my day that are slow and calm, while Julianna naps. It’s very peaceful. But the mornings are insane, even making lunchs and picking up clothes ahead of time, it’s still a harried mess trying to get three kids dressed, fed and out the door.
And pick up is ever more busy. I usually wake Julie up from her nap and shove her into the car. Then I drive to the school, fight for parking, get Julie out, walk super slowly to the school and wait for the cherubs. Then I drop Sarah off at home, and bring my two home. At least on Mondays and Fridays. Tuesdays, I also pick up Caroline, and Wednesdays, I go to the Holden Library and then drop off Jessie and pick up Harrison. Every other Thursday, Jess has Brownies.
There’s homework and cooking and cleaning and childcare – and it’s busy, busy, busy. Bathtime and homework and laundry, oh the laundry. I’m never actually caught up on laundry, I’ve got most of a load to wash still, and two loads to fold and put away. The dishes, the mess, the blocks, the paper. The paper. Sam is learning to write and add, and likes to do it as often as possible. Jessie needs to sketch out her house plans, and details of Lala Land, and Julie just like scrawling on paper and presenting it to me gleefully. I’ve constantly got paper and crayons all over the place.
I’m tired. Really, really tired. My back hurts, my head hurts and I’d pay money for a quiet hour alone in a clean house with cool drink and a good book.