I clutched the sides of the sink, holding so tightly I thought I might break the countertop. Or my fingers. Inhaling deeply, I couldn’t fight back the tears falling into the soapy water below. My chest caved in, kitchen towel dangling into the water as I shook and wept.
Angry.
Confused.
Upset.
Mad.
Thankful,
yet
Pissed Off.
I continued my silent sobs to myself, over my kitchen sink, thoughts a-mile-a-minute, waffles over-cooking behind me, fighting between siblings heard in the distance. Patience worn thinner than paper.
The sun shone through the window, streaming into my eyes through the wet eyelashes, fluttering, clenched, saddened eyes wanting to see clear and feel the warmth of the day on my skin and not be so angry at another day gone wrong. Another day without my husband. Another day seemingly “stuck”. And noncooperation seemed to be on the menu this morning, with a side of “But why moooooooooooooooom?”
And then it hit me.
I was just so busy with the why’s myself. Why do I have to do Easter break practically alone? Why do I have to live in this forsaken post/town? Why do I have to put up with this house? Why do I have to…
And then I stopped.
Good gracious, I was a whiny, sniveling, mess of a mother. Who’d had a bad few days, but sure wasn’t making things any easier. Call it hormones. Call it a temper-tantrum. But whatever you call it, don’t call it pretty, because it wasn’t.
I dried my eyes. I packed away my “poor me’s”, wrapped neatly into my jean’s pocket, and I said my “thank you’s” to whomever in charge for having my husband fifteen minutes away instead of fifteen-gazillion miles away at war, and for my six, rambunctious but healthy children running a-muck up, down, in, out, and sideways in my cramped home, to Mother Nature for giving me the sun today, to do with as I wanted. And did. And loved.
So what, my spring break is more difficult than I had planned it to be, with hubby working super-overtime/day-on, day-off madness. I could do it, I was just too busy not wanting to, and complaining about it to actually do it.
Foolish momma. Too sad and angry to walk the walk, once I found my feet and swallowed my pain, the walkin’ was easier.
And hubby? Home for the night. Missed-like-crazy, and will be too when he leaves again for another 24 hours.
And the children? Smiled, and jumped, and played, and helped garden. And filled my day with kisses and hugs and a bazillion few fights, but joy nonetheless.
And me? Calmer. Exhausted after another long day. Muscle’s aching. Content with a good day’s work. Hopeful that tomorrow will be a better day. And grateful that the pain, tucked away in my jean’s pocket, was washed in the washer, hopefully is down the drain, gone for the duration of the break…
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