Dishes, ARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!!

The job (of all my “jobs”) that I really just want to QUIT, is doing dishes. The whole keeping the kitchen clean thing must take a couple of hours a day and I’m sick of it. I think I did the dishes 5 times today. I just can’t stand having dishes pile up in the sink, so I guess that’s on me. But our kitchen doesn’t close off and it’s just one too many messes for me.
Plus, it’s ant season. Plus, I just love going to sleep and waking to a clean kitchen. It soothes me. The rest of the house seems to be beyond my abilitites at the moment, and I’ve learned to ignore it pretty well. I keep having to use the kitchen, though.

I would almost add cooking to the list of jobs I’m ready to walk off of, but I can’t even say that. Too much guilt. I must feed my family. Stephen would take care of himself if need be, but I have to feed my child. I want to, I do. I’m just tired of it.

It’s just so constant. If I’m not buying food, I’m putting it away, or cooking it, or cleaning it, or serving it, etc… I don’t finish breakfast without my mind wandering to the cupboards to make sure I have something for lunch.
It drives Stephen crazy because he’ll be trying to enjoy the meal he’s having and I’m asking what he wants for the next one.

It’s just that my way of not having to think about it all day, is to get it squared away in my head and then let it go for a bit.

And now the child is hungry so often. It’s healthier, isn’t it, to eat small meals every couple of hours. But, oh my god! And I don’t want to just give her crackers. I want her to have healthy snacks. I’m so lucky that she loves fruit and veggies and all I have to do is make sure we have them in the house and that I have them ready for her.

But back to my dishes…
I was ready to crack tonight. Serious, “mommy on the verge” action. I was such a brat, really. Harrumphing and whining. I couldn’t stop myself. That isn’t what I want to model for my 3 year old. I wouldn’t let her behave like that, actually.
Yes, it’s PMS (pre-menopausal PMS, probably)… but, still. No excuse.

Being honest, I have to say that I think I do it partly so that Stephen will know how much I suffer. From somewhere deep within my whiney self, I need for him to know how hard it is for me.
And so, then, I have to apologize for my behavior. I’m also so tired of apologizing. But, I do believe in owning it. Darn it all.

There. I’ve said it. And I know I need to change it. I do not want this to be what turns my mood sour every day. And I never want to prepare my family’s food with any energy other than love. I’m conscious of that when I feel the big chip on my shoulder. I take a few deep breaths and find the light. Sometimes it’s only the tiniest fissure in my cranky wall of angst, but that’s enough. It’s enough to lead me back to the truth that I love these people and I love to care for them.
I don’t like to cook particularly. Not my thing. But, I do love it when Stephen enjoys what I’ve made for him and I do appreciate that he is a very, very appreciative diner. I think I even glow sometimes. And when my little girl eats vegetables like she can’t get enough, I feel like I’m doing something right. I feel like a good mom, and that is an unbelievably great feeling.