I was going to write this funny post about how my husband is really 80 years old. I was. I had it all planned out. Except I'm just so burned out right now. For reasons that I can't talk about.
For reasons that I CAN talk about, I'm burned out because I miss my boys. Nine days out of ten, I've come to terms with being a work outside of the home mom. But when that one day out of ten rolls around, it's like a knife twisted in my heart. I miss them. I miss them with every core of my being. I miss their smells, their hugs, their kisses. I miss playdates and coloring and the frustration of missed naps. I have a hard time coming to terms with the sheer amount of energy I extend on 100 children each day, only to be so zapped that I have no energy left for my two. That I turn on the TV instead of reading a book to them just so I can fold clothes because I am so, so behind. Always behind.
I know this too shall pass, and I'll feel renewed again. I'll feel okay with leaving just as they're waking up, with not being the one to straighten up their sleep mussed hair and fight with naptimes, with having to say, "I'm sorry, Mommy can't pick you up right now. I have to leave." (I hate that one. Nothing is harder than turning down a sleepy child who just wants to be held, who is holding his hands up at you and saying "Pick me up!" because you have to leave.) I know it'll be summer soon, and I know if I don't say this, someone will comment and tell me that at least I have summer off with them. And I do. I'm lucky to have that, but you know what? That doesn't make TODAY any easier, it doesn't make today hurt any less sad.
Today I just want to go home and never come back.