There's just not ever a day of rainbows and sunshine here. Rob and I are good. Great. We're a solid 9.7 on a scale of 10 and most days I feel like we're standing back to back fighting off the biggest swarm of zombie alien monster attackers ever to drag themselves across a movie screen. We're a team. That's the good part. We'd completely fall apart without each other, which maybe isn't so good, but we're good.
The rest of this circus is not really interested in being on our team.
One is on the cusp of being held back in school. We can't seem to make life work the way it should for this one, and a year of reinforcing basics seems to be the best solution. We feel like it's for the best and won't really be an issue, but I can't help thinking just a little less distraction and chaos would mean a lot. Every day and every action is a happy-go-lucky battle of wills.
Two are constantly sullen and pouting and instead of using actual words and just telling us what's wrong, they create chaos and confusion and heartache all around. Nothing is ever good enough and everything is always awful and it's always our fault and we never do anything right. Clearly. Pouring love out and into these two wears me out.
Another is so sensitive and kind it breaks my heart to see the way the stress of our house weighs on this one's heart. A perfectionist and people-pleaser is doomed in our house these days. Nurturing this heart takes whatever is left.
Every. meal. sucks. No one can or will eat anything anymore. And yet if we don't eat good solid meals, all four of them fall apart as soon as they get the slighest bit hungry.
My work is stressful. Up-all-night-and-crying-during-the-day stressful.
Extended family--the main reason we moved here when we did--is a sore subject.
We're in the trenches right now and I'm just weary. I want a nap and a hug and a full-house-attitude-adjustment. And two publications and tenure while I'm at it.