I Just Want To Eat Breakfast

Mornings in my house are hard.  Excruciatingly hard.  My husband gets to leave everyday for vacation work between 6:30 and 7am.  That means my “job” starts shortly beforehand.  Breakfast for the kids.  Brushing teeth.  Walking the dog.  Switching the laundry from the washer to the drier.  Unloading the dishwasher.  Making the beds.  Breaking up fights.  Cleaning up breakfast.  Ignoring the 3 foot tall pile of laundry that needs to folded.  Putting the baby back down for his morning nap.  Slapping on a band-aid when a rogue slinky goes awhol.  Feeding the dog.  Gluing a toy.  Changing a diaper or 7.  The list of what I do goes on and on and on and on…

But here are the things that are rarely on the list: taking a shower. Brushing my own teeth. Putting on clean clothes. Eating my own breakfast. Talking on the phone.  Sitting and reading something.  Hell, sitting down at all!  I’m not complaining (yes, I totally am) but what is it about men that they don’t notice what needs to be done?  Why am I the only who ends up doing all the domestic goddess crap?  And I get so mad when he leaves and I look something like this:

overwhelmed-mom-holding-babies-0-280x280 overwhelmed_Mom overwhelmed2 Portrait of very surprised bizarre screaming housewife

But then I feel guilty.  Like if one us dies today is me bitching about him slacking in the “help” department really the last thing I want to remember?  So then I let it go and we do this family hug thing.  And all is right in the world if somebody dies…but god, I really wish somebody else would do some of this stuff so I could just sit down and eat a normal breakfast.

 

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