A Short Story of Motherhood

She got her kids an evening snack consisting of orange slices and grapes (she was quite proud of herself for this). She announced to her children she was going to use the restroom and would be out shortly. 

She closed the door believing she would have two minutes of privacy, but 30 seconds later her three year old son came in saying, “I thought I lost you!”

Exasperated she replied, “Honey, I told you where I would be. Mommy is almost done.”

“Oh,” he seemed to process her words before continuing, “well I need to talk to you.” He sat down and looked up at her expectantly. 

The exhausted mother then tried her best to help the toddler through his concerns with why grapes taste “grapey” and why his sisters orange had one more slice in it than his, all while trying to complete the process of answering nature’s call. 

Privacy is a myth mothers everywhere want to believe exists, but no solid proof has ever been found. 

The end. 


It’s Been a While…

I know it’s been quite some time since my post before last. A lot has happened and a lot is still going on. 

I got another job so now I have two. My first job is a production associate/waitress at Pizza Hut, which has shifting hours so I’m working either in the morning or at night, and my second job is being the third shift cashier at a poorly run truck stop. Sometimes I have to go straight from one job to another. Sometimes my only window of opportunity to sleep is 5 hours, but it’s a 45 minute drive from where I live, so that plus time to get ready is now a three hour window. Maybe three and a half. 

The next bit of news that is very happy and exciting is we finally got a place of our own!! It’s smaller than what we’re used to, but it’s ours and I love it. It’s put us closer to my husband’s job, but further away from mine. So I’m trying to find a job closer to home. We need to look into daycare as well because I either need a full time, $10+ hour job, or continue having two jobs which will continue to suck the life force out of me. 

The hardest thing about having these two jobs is that I don’t have the time or the energy to do the things I enjoy. My blog has been left in the corner gaining dust and cobwebs. My vlog is basically a figment of my imagination now. Drawing, writing, coloring…these are all things I don’t have time or energy for. But these are the things that pull me out of my sadness and self-loathing. 

I’ll go 24+ hours without seeing my kids. Which, honestly, I could handle if my husband, or some non-judgmental person who listens to my instructions, were  watching them, but it’s his mother or grandmother (who hates me). Both woman don’t listen to what I want for my kids. Both think they know what’s best for them more than I do. Both don’t take me seriously as a mother and will find ways to step into my role. 

And both seem to think I’m an idiot.

So I’m trying to find a better job and affordable daycare. It almost feels like an infinite loop of “I can’t do one before doing the other” and it’s annoying as Hell. 

Makes it difficult to enjoy and appreciate my new home. 

Everything Was Fine. Until it Wasn’t. 

One minute my sons and I were having fun. Eating chocolate. Watching The Last Unicorn. Playing with snapchat filters. 

And then it hit me like a stampeding elephant. I couldn’t stand the feel of them touching me. The sound of my favorite movie was like nails on a chalkboard. The overwhelming feeling of my children’s dependence on me was too much for me. They shouldn’t depend on me. I’m not stable enough for them. 

I retreat to my bed and listen as they wreak havoc in our chaotic living room. I can’t do anything to stop it. I just listen to make sure they’re not hurting themselves. 

Then my three year old comes in and I can smell the shit he took in his pants. I’m beyond fucking done dealing with this kid’s lack of desire to be potty trained. I’m done with shitty diapers. I’ve been changing diapers for six straight years. And of course the cycle of insanity wouldn’t be complete without my youngest following suit and shitting his diaper. 

I text my husband asking him when he’ll be home. Hoping it will be soon so he can change the boys. Nope. No such luck. Then he calls. Trying to figure out what’s wrong. Bless him. But I’m in no mood to explain this shit to him. He doesn’t understand it. Never will. I’m a broken fucking record trying to get him to get it and I’m sick of that too. So I snap. Wrong of me, I know, but I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything right now except for my failings. 

We hang up and he texts me a few minutes later. 

I read it in my banner on my lock screen, but I didn’t open it. So it didn’t show I had read it. I cried. I just stared at my phone and cried. His next few messages were nonsensical. Just trying to elicit a response out of me. It failed. He called. I ignored. He called again. I ignored. Again. 

I was trying to gather the motivation to change both my sons and I knew if I answered the phone I’d let that distract me from doing what I needed to do. I also did not feel like talking. My mother could have called and I would have ignored her. For the first time I can think of, I felt no obligation to answer my phone. 

When he called a third time I answered it, but put the phone on speaker and handed it to our two year old. He immediately began chatting to whoever it was, and when he realized it was Daddy on the phone he really began to chatter away. One of the things he told my husband that I could clearly understand was, “Mommy sad.”

I began talking to my three year old, who’s ass I was reluctantly wiping, so my husband could hear I wasn’t in a different part of the house. And that I was alive. I didn’t acknowledge my husband directly though. 

I didn’t know how to. 

When he came home he basically ignored my existence. He made dinner for the kids, started a load of laundry, and got himself ready for work. The more times he came in and out of our room, ignoring me, the more guilt and fear I began to feel. After he was done shaving, I called his name and reached out for him, wanting him to sit on the bed next to me, scoop me up in his arms, and hold me as I bawled into his chest, but he didn’t hear me and he didn’t even glance in my direction so he didn’t see me reach out to him. 

So I cried. 


Eventually I got his attention and we started to talk. I tried my best to explain to him that I didn’t even know what happened. “Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.” I didn’t know how else to explain it. Nothing set off this reaction. 

Normally something, large, small, stupid, valid, etc. something happens to cause a reaction like this, but everything was going really well. And then something happened inside of me that had no reason to happen. And it ruined me. 

I’m able to function now. Hours later. Kids in bed. Husband at work. Now I can function, but it’s still ruining me. I can feel it working silently. As of right now, I’m helpless to stop it.