Battle Hymns of a Hot Mess Mom

I just rang J on the phone, he’s in the garage. It’s about noon and I asked him. Did you ask if the kids have eaten or are hungry. He said the kids will tell him when they’re hungry. I find myself riddled with anxiety with that answer. Aren’t you the parent? When I ask you what’s for lunch or dinner – it’s not asking for my benefit. It’s for my children. Have they been fed? Maybe it’s me? Maybe my children can be more independent to say they are hungry but don’t they have a lifetime to do that? While they are here with me – should they not be cared for in that way? So I decided to engage and ask why he’s no longer cooking for the children. Why are they left to fend for themselves? Is it really me? Am I really the drama here? Maybe I am. Maybe I’m the problem because I think I should be caring for the children. They have chores they are responsible for. L has the laundry and S has the dishes. But there hasn’t been legit grocery shopping for at least a week. So of course meals are last minute and then with sports and practice it becomes overwhelming. Because he doesn’t plan. He likes to fly by the seat of his pants and figure it out on the go. With two kids, school, sports and work…it doesn’t work. But he doesn’t see that. That’s the source of a lot of grind. The lack of preparation makes for a tough evening. So I know I need to get better. I need to get stronger for my children sake.

4:30pm I relapsed.

Maybe this blog really will be my last love letters to my children.