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Ahh…, they sleep. On my bed. At 5 in the evening. I’ll probably pay for it later, when they’re cranky at dinner and too wired to go to bed at a decent hour. But, I’m tired. So tired….

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I woke up this morning with it. The burnout. It usually happens Sunday mornings, after a week of solid mothering — usually after Josh goes away, like, TO VEGAS or on a business trip. I wake up to the sound of “maMA! maMA! maMA! maMA! maMA! maMA! maMAHHH! maMAHHH! maMAHHHHHHH!” It’s Rascal, like a parrot — squawking “maMAHHH!” over and over and over again until I can haul Josh’s arse out of bed to go get him his “mitz” (his milk) and bring him to “maMAHHHHHHH”! Usually I welcome Rascal’s morning antics. But, some mornings, like today, I just want to sleep. I just want to be left alone. I want what Kimberly Wilson calls a “bed day” — sleep in, stay in your pjs all day, read, nap, and just be cozy, do nothing. (Kimberly schedules a “bed day” once a month! If only!)

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And, then monkey woke up “MAMA, I NEEDA PEEEEEE! I NEEDA PEEEEEEE! I NEEDA PEEEEEEE!” And she thump thump thumps into my room…. Since when did my children get so difficult and demanding? And what’s with the whining? WHINING? Frightful fours, is it? I’m in it. Smack dab in the middle of it.

I know I have Mother Burnout when EVERYTHING is just soooo irritating. It’s not them. Truly, it’s me. I get irritated by ANYONE that demands ANYTHING of me. There’s only so much I can GIVE GIVE GIVE! Even the husband starts getting to me, the phone ringing, the CLUTTER everywhere. And Tigger. Ohhhh, Tigger.

Never Minden, though….

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…because he’s my little partner in misery — just as irritated as I am by everything around him. Just wanting to curl up in a little ball and…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Seriously, I loathe these days. Loathe feeling like this. I really TRY to get out of the funk, but  it doesn’t happen. Until the kids are in bed and I’m on my couch and, ultimately, in bed again….

To make myself feel better today, I left the kids outside with Josh-O so I could workout and have my own space for a bit. Not 10 minutes into my 20-minute Shred, I hear screams. Rascal’s flipped down the concrete stairs in the front because SOMEONE pushed him. ME-duty gives way to MOTHER-duty. I give SOMEONE a time-out and wash poor Rascal’s muddy, scratched-up little frame. I hug him and comfort him.

I take one minute to put my head on the bathtub ledge, and grit my teeth and breathe — until little fingers peel my head off the ledge and sharp little nails pry open my squeezed-shut eyelids.

It’s the hardest job in the world. No, it really is. People say that all the time, but they don’t REALLY think about it, do they.

It’s the hardest job in the world. Motherhood is awesome and wonderful and a blessed thing. But, it’s hard. Really freakin’ hard.

Sigh…. In other news, Monkey and Rascal had their first official conversation. Check it:

Monkey: Do you don’t want ice cream?
Rascal: Neh.

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