Mentally drained

Today I just feel like I've had it.  From the time I leave home, until the time the girls get to school, I call and get called at least 10 times.  I call 2-3 times to make sure they're on track to be ready on time.  They call because they've lost a sock, or forgot an assignment, or aren't sure how many muffins I said they could have or because one used the other's deodorant.

I'm blessed that they are old enough to get themselves together and walk to school.  I no longer pay a ton of $$$ to day care.  I'm a mother, and I'm mothering.  I get that.

Work is getting more and more mentally draining.  It's getting busy and I'm dealing with some coworkers who won't pull their weight.  I'm fixing problems that others have caused, and multi-tasking on things that need my undivided attention.

It's my job.  I answer phones and emails, fix technical errors, check orders, and deal with customer's problems.  It's in the job description, and I get that.

From the time I get off work, until the time that I'm home, I call or get called at least 6 times a day.  I call to let them know that I'm on the way.  They call because someone has the music too loud, there are no pencils (yes there are, in the drawer,) the cat almost got out,  is it OK to have a snack cake instead of the predetermined snack, there's a muffin left and they both want it, etc.  

I'm blessed that they are old enough to come home after school and do their homework with no help most of the time.  I'm not paying after-school care.  I'm a mother, and I'm mothering.  I get that.

I'm staying up late to make sure that laundry stays caught up.  I get the coffee pot prepped for morning, figure out breakfast plans, and tidy up a bit for the next day.  I'm getting 6-7 hours of sleep, and my lazy body wants 8-9 hours.

I'm blessed to have a warm home to wake up in, a washer and dryer to do laundry in, and food to feed my family.  I'm a mother and  I'm mothering.  I get that.

I know that I'm being over-sensitive tonight.  I know that I'm just tired, and it's making me whiney.  I don't want to complain, because 100,000 other mothers out there are doing the same things, with fewer resources.  There are latchkey kids at home at the age of 8, instead of 13.  I am quite blessed, and I won't give up.

It's just a pity-party kind of night, and I'm tired.  

A more uplifting post tomorrow, I promise.  No matter what.