What are we having for dinner? Is it smoked sausage? Are we having sauerkraut? Why can’t we have sauerkraut? I hate sauerkraut. Can we have sauerkraut tomorrow? I love it so much. No! I hate it! Mom, what’s for dinner?
I walk out of the room and repeatedly bang my head against the wall. No. Wait. Instead, I think I will open a bottle of wine.
I want to scream at the Hobbits, but instead, I feel a pit in my stomach, and the waves of desperation wash over me. I continue cutting vegetables for dinner.
There is no way to win at motherhood.
Someone is always upset. Someone is unhappy. Usually, it is me.
There are tears, there are tantrums, there is screaming. Mostly just from me.
There are days when I simply swear that motherhood is a losing game and it will eventually sink me. I can’t see land, and I can’t touch bottom.
Maybe they will forgive me someday. Maybe they won’t. Maybe they will love me anyway. Maybe they won’t.
I usually forgive them. I usually love them anyway.
Today, I don’t forgive them. Today, I am angry that nothing is ever good enough. Today, I don’t really like them. Today, they don’t really like each other. They probably don’t like me, either.
I don’t really care. Tomorrow, I will try again.
I had better not drink all the wine.