Broken

I am broken. I reached this conclusion on Sunday. Now, I'm a realist, for the most part. I do have hopes that certain things can change, but recognize the unlikelihood of it. One thing though, that has to change is how my family operates.

I tried doing the whole "Donna Reed-Betty Crocker-Martha Stewart-June Cleaver" thing. Obviously, I am missing that gene. I do not know when I lost it. I'm not sure where I lost it. To be honest, I believe I was born without it. I can cook. Albeit, not like Julia Child. Not even like Emeril. (Bam!) I can clean. I will never be as much of a neatnik as my mother. I have to have my clutter. I do not do my cooking, cleaning, or motherly duties wearing dresses of any sort. I certainly do not wait on my husband to come home from work before making any disciplinary decisions. I am not the let's-bake-cookies-and-hold-block-parties kind of girl. I have very little talent for crafts. I can sew, but one shirt could take me four months to finish correctly. Those little tie-together fleece blankies? My absolute FAVE! But I do the other stuff.

I go to every school play, recital, program, meal, field trip, whatever. I'll forgo things for myself so my kids don't have to do without. I try to make meals or at least buy foods that everyone will eat. On their way out the door, my kids are all told I love them and to have a good day. The older ones nod or go "yeah" at me. My daughter will still hug and kiss me. I listen to long explanations about video games I'll never play, web-games I will never understand, and all the drama that goes on in high school and fourth grade. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, puts Hollywood goings-on to shame. I help with homework, feed the revolving masses of teenaged boys (a few girls drop in) with an hour's notice or less, and do the whole 'fat mom' consoling thing. (Never trust a skinny mom. They have no clue.)

I am relied on by everyone in this house for every little thing. Being a mom is the most thankless job in the world. I know this. However, I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for a perfect world. I don't expect my family to express gratitude on a daily basis. I'd settle for once a month. Hell, once a year would work. But as of Sunday, I realized that's not going to happen. And it hurts and it pisses me off. I'm tired of the daily struggle to get anyone to pitch in around the house even so far as to toss their own dirty clothes down to the basement so they can get washed, much less to take their own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I know I am significant to those who live here, simply because I do it all.

Sunday, all I wanted was to hang my outside Christmas lights since it was nice out and I didn't want to be out there doing it in 20 below zero weather. Nope. Didn't happen. Everyone ahd been warned about this job since Thursday. They all decided that video games, discussing their love lives, football, and eating were more important than helping me. Fine. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, as they say. So now I'm broken. And still no one seems to give a crap. I love my family. I'd be in horrible shape if I lost any one of them. But, I deserve at least a little bit of help and acknowledgement. Maybe every mom goes through this. I don't know. I just know that I'm finished with it. As shitty as that sounds, I simply cannot take any more. I don't need daily affirmations that I'm a good wife and mother. I don't expect the bickering and constant reminders to stop. But when my husband touches me in that 'special way' and all I can think is "oh great one more thing someone wants me to do", there's something wrong and there's too much being asked of me.