Bitch, bitch, bitch

I'm feeling a little bitchy. It was a rough afternoon. One in an endless series of rough afternoons. Here's how it usually goes (and how it did, in fact, go this afternoon):

Kevin comes home from school. He's got a pretty heavy homework load this year, and I feel for him, I really do. But right away the game starts. He stalls. He finds any and every reason in the world to not get started on his homework. I have to get on his case over and over to get started on his homework. I hate it. I've never been one of those "helicopter moms" and I don't want to be one. I don't want to, nor do I think I should have to, babysit my kids through their homework. I am here to consult with if they need assistance (although, unfortunately, the type of homework help Kevin usually needs is along the lines of algebra which, come on folks, I took about 30 years ago and have never used since and don't remember at all), but I do not feel it is my job to hold their hands while they do their homework. So, as I said, Kevin stalls and stalls until I finally have to holler at him, so he finally gets started, but even then will break away from it every few minutes because he needs a snack, he wants to say hi to Finn, he has to go to the bathroom, yada yada yada. So it ends up taking him hours to get his homework done, and then he's in a crappy mood because his entire afternoon is shot and now it's too late to go ride his skateboard or hang out with his friend Daniel.

Around 4:00 usually I round the girls up for bath time (yes, I bathe them late in the afternoon before dinner; it just seems to be the best time to do it). By the time I get them out of the tub, the official Witching Hour has started. Kevin is likely still not done with his homework and copping a total attitude. The girls are whining for dinner, which they will continue to do for the next hour +, until I get dinner on the table. Finn is cranky. I'm tired and frazzled. Kevin takes his frustration out on Joey and the two of them start into arguing, so I'm breaking things up between them while simultaneously trying to deal with Finn while simultaneously trying to get dinner made while simultaneously listening to the girls whine and trying to keep my head from exploding. And there's inevitably some mishap thrown in for good measure: Lilah might pee on the floor, or someone else might suffer some minor but urgent injury and start howling and screaming "MMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!", or something gets spilled, or whatever. Always something though. And then Michael might call or text me saying he's going to be a little late! By this time I just want to cry - either that, or lock myself in the bathroom and start drinking . . . (I kid). I finally get dinner on the table and usually at least half of the kids announce that they don't like it and won't eat it. All that effort and that's what I get. I should just feed them freaking chicken nuggets and mac and cheese every single night of the week - that's all they really want anyway.

On Tuesdays the kids are required to do a good bedroom-straightening because the housekeeper comes on Wednesdays and can't very well vaccuum and dust their rooms with all their stuff laying around. It's always a huge battle to get the boys to clean up their room, and inevitably when they say they've finished the job I go in there and have to actually finish picking up myself because their idea of cleaning up and mine are two very different ideas. Tonight after all the other crap that went on this afternoon, I had had it and when I went in their room at bedtime and saw that Joey's idea of cleaning up his stuff meant piling it all on top of his dresser, I lost my temper and went and grabbed a grocery bag and dumped everything from the top of his dresser into the bag and walked out with him crying and howling over it.

**sigh**

I feel bad. I hate for any of us to go to bed unhappy. I'm sure I could have handled that better. Another less than stellar mom moment.

And tomorrow we get to do it all over again.