Crankyface

I have a bad case of the crankies.  I thought it would get better, but its been going on three weeks now.
Cranky.

It means that I get impatient. Impatience leads me to raise my voice, and become blamish.
It is not a pretty sight. Especially if I am looking at you with my blamey eyes. Sorry.  If that happens, sorry.

The day goes like this.

I wake up. Earlier than I would have liked. After a night tending my baby who has become insistent on nursing frequently, and he has a cough, so I am trying to keep him hydrated, so I don't sleep well. Then I have to wake up. To kids. They instantly need stuff.

Diapers changed. Then, two of the kids need their hair done, their cereal poured into dishes, and their lunches packed.  They also need reminded to get ready. Keep moving. Keep getting ready until you are ready.  It is a challenging concept for young sweet minds.

Then, Ian leaves for work, and I am in babyland.

Babyland is great for me for a few hours.  We eat breakfast, start some laundry, listen to some general conference and get all religified. We read a couple of stories.  Then we start fighting. Not on purpose. It is purely accidental.

Usually it is about naps and potty training.

I want little baby to take a nap. He wants to take a nap, but doesn't want to admit it.  So he cries until he falls asleep around 10 am.  Then the nearly 3 year old decides to be loud. Really loud, really close to the baby's door.  I think it is on purpose because she wants to play with him.

We fight about that. Me and the three year old. And me and the baby. And the baby and the three year old.  We are all fighting at once about naps.

Then I tell the nearly 3 year old to go do her business on the potty. She is fine doing one thing, but not the other.  The stinky one. It makes me cranky. Super cranky to change poopy diapers when I know she could very well go on the potty if she chose to. Please choose to.

Then it is lunch time. We often fight about lunch, too. Quantities of cheese. Quantities of juice. Quantities of chips. Rationing is a difficult concept for toddlers. Well, for anyone, I guess.

Lately, it's downhill from here. The crank in me really comes out after lunch. I feel like I've given it all I had to be patient for those first 4 hours of the day. Because sometimes, like today, the nearly 3 year old decided not to take a nap. UHHHHHH!!!!! No nap?!? Come on.

I told Ian today when he got home at 6:30, after my day of taking the baby to the doctor for some sickliness, trying to fill a prescription for him that was way expensive (we've surely met our deductible after a week in the NICU, yes?), and NO NAP TIME, that I am ready to get a job.

Being a constant stay at home parent is hard. Negotiating hostile situations with little people depending on me to keep it together all the time. Crazy.

I have no insight people. Just crankiness deep down in the crevices of my belly. "Busy season" is taking its toll on the Hornbargers. Lots to do and not enough time or resources to get it done.

I know what I should do. Be grateful.

I will be. Tomorrow. From 8:00 am-for as long as possible. Because there's no hope until I get some sleep.

Tomorrow I will be grateful for a husband with a job and willingness to work.  I will be grateful for healthy children who can ask for what they want, and for a body capable of serving them.  I will be grateful for choices, and the opportunity to practice.  I will be grateful for the grapes in my refrigerator, and the awesome washer and dryer that are in constant motion. I will be grateful for my working van, and the sunshine, and music.

After all dear, tomorrow is another day.

And if you leave a comment telling me how great my life is, I may or may not punch you in your face-virtually, of course-in a friendly way. But, really.