Mommy to the 47th power...

Here it is, 8:03 on a Thursday night.  I'm sitting at my computer, staring at this blank page, wondering about what I'm going to write about.

 I could write about things going on in the world, and comment on those topics. I could write about Illinois becoming the 16th state to legalize gay marriage.  However, I don't have much to say on the topic.  Love is love.  If you want to commit to someone to share your life with them, why would I want to hold that against you or stop you?  

I could write about this commercial for engineering toys targeting a girl audience for once.  I think it's awesome.  I also think my girls are way into pink princess crap, and would want directions on how to build all that stuff that was built in the commercial.

Speaking of children, I could write about how mine are driving me bat-crap crazy.  I could tell you about how, picking Mia up from pre-school should be a wonderful happy time.  But it's not because every day we walk past the Christmas Tree with the presents for needy kids.  And Mia looks in the basket.  And she cries because she wants "Monster High" stuff and we never get her anything and then she just continues to whine and cry.  I could tell you how, 7 minutes into being with Mia, she's said "Mommy" about 43 times and I am ready to find some Prozac.  Mostly because she's still whining, and unhappy, and every "Mommy" is not something I want to hear.

I spend the time trying to figure out why she's so upset with me and acting out to make me angry at her.  I try very hard not to get angry with her, but try to ask her questions and find out why she's unhappy with me.  She's happy at school, adores her teachers, but the minute we hit the door, she's suddenly pissy.  

I'm starting to think that the evenings are the worst part of my day.  I work all day long.  I leave early in the morning, many days before the girls are out of bed.  I spend an hour trying to get to work.  I work, bring my lunch, sit in my cube - the highlight of my day is when I go to run on the treadmill and watch reruns of "How I Met Your Mother" or "NCIS".  Then, I go back to work for the rest of the afternoon.  I spend most of my day alone.  There are few people sitting by me anymore, and I don't have many people to chit chat with.  Then, at the magical hour, I leave, to spend another hour and a half to get the girls at their two different day cares, and get home to cook dinner.  3 out of 5 days, we have activities - 2 days of dance, and grocery shopping.  Then we come home, and I cook a dinner that I am looking forward to, but the girls are not.  The girls watch TV when we get home, or I turn on my iPod while I cook.  We generally spend the next half hour to hour fighting to eat dinner before it's shower time and off to bed. This is when we fight to get the little one to stay in bed, or take a shower, or anything.

The evenings are spent fighting lately.  The girls fighting each other.  The girls fighting with me to get them to eat.  Me angry at them for not sharing papers from school, or for fighting with their sister, or for not eating dinner, or for giving their dinner to the dog.  You name it, lately, it's making me angry.  

Why is it that I'm not that perfect mom?  The one that picks up her children and is all smiles and happy?  The one that sits and plays with her kids, or does crafts with them.  You know that mom.  The perfect mom that seems to be just so damn happy to be a mom, to be with her kids, like that is the best thing on earth.  

I'm tired.  I'm cranky.  My skin is broken out.  My house is a mess.  I can't seem to get it to ever be clean.  We yell, like all the time.  I can't seem to figure out how to get out of the rut.  What to do to make things better.  The only thing I can figure right now, is that I need sleep.  It's 8:27 now, and my eyes do not want to be open.

Tomorrow is another day.  Maybe I'll figure it out tomorrow.