Cause of Death:

I’m sure you’ve heard of Chinese water torture. A person is strapped down and water is dripped onto their body, one drop at a time… over and over and over again in the same. exact. spot.
There’s a similar form of torture that has been going on in my home for the last week.
I’m strapped to my house, and my children run circles around me, undoing everything I’ve done and saying, “Mommy… Mommy… Mommy…”
drip, drip, drip.

“Mommy, what are you doing in the bathroom?”
“Mommy, I need a movie.”
“Mommy, are you done yet?”
“Mommy, are we there yet?”
“Mommy, I need a snack.”
“Mommy, what’s under the dirt?”
“Mommy, what’s under the ground?”
“Mommy, what’s under the rock?”
“Mommy, what’s under the water?”
“Mommy what’s under the lava?”
“Mommy, what’s under Satan’s house?”

Drip, drip, drip.
And I handle it well. It’s no big thing, I mean… it’s just kids. It’s the way they are! It’s definitely the way I was when I was little.
The thing is Chinese water torture is that you actually CAN stand it for a little while, but there’s a reason it’s called torture.
And there’s a reason they strap you down.

And last night, after spending the day working on aprons for the boutique and cleaning the house up because the kids had thoroughly thrashed it while my back was to them… I was tired. I had hurt my back while working out in the morning, I had a toothache, and I had been going at it all day. Working, working, working.
By the time my husband got home, all heck had broken loose.
The house was trashed again.
My crafts were laid out, drying here and there.
Clean laundry was piled on the couch.
My daughter had attempted to draw some sanity into the chaos.

She strapped her apron on crooked and tried to tame the kitchen, and it REALLY needed taming.

As I painted an apron, my husband asked what was for dinner.
My children were bringing me boxes of Kraft Mac n’ Cheese and BEGGING, “Mommy, pleeeeeease.”
“Just let me rest for a minute,” I told them, fully knowing that I’d have to wash enough dishes to even MAKE dinner.
Finally my husband got up and made himself some Ramen. The mood in our home had turned absolutely sour.
“Mommy, please can we have macaroni?”
“Just a second, okay?” I said, resting on the couch.
“Mommy, pleeeease.”
“Mommy.”
“Mommy.”
“Mommy.”
Drip, drip, drip…
I got up, went to the kitchen and made dinner.
BANG went the pot.
SLAM went the spoon.
STOMP went my feet.

I made the Kraft Mac n’ Cheese. I served it. I went straight back to the kitchen and…
BANG went the plates.
SLAM went the pans.
STOMP went my feet.
In twenty minutes flat the mess on the counter was completely squeaky clean save ONE GLASS CUP that ended up in the trash on account of it’s being too delicate to handle a temper tantrum.
My husband, who had been in the living room watching The Office, came in the kitchen.
“Dang,” he said, “Those dishes would have taken me two hours.”
“Well, it’s amazing what you can do when you’re angry.” I said.
“Why are you angry?” He asked, verrrrry carefully.
“Because! I’m TIRED! All I wanted to do was make some aprons to sell at a boutique to earn some money to help us out, but I CAN’T because I’m TIED to this house! Every day I do the same things over and over and over. I wash the same dishes, over and over and over. I wash the same clothes, the same counters, and in the end all I get is MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY! and I am just SO tired! I need some HELP here! I just want to be able to DO something that STAYS DONE without having everything else around me fall apart because I’m not RIGHT THERE!”
BANG went the cupboard.
SLAM went the fridge.
STOMP went my feet.
And my husband slowly backed out of the kitchen.

I finished with the dishes, and I went into the kids’ bathroom where I found baby powder spread on absolutely every surface, including the toilet seat. I opened the toilet seat to find blue toothpaste smeared inside the bowl.
Because that’s where we put toothpaste around here, I guess.
I cleaned in faster than I ever have.
I moved to the laundry room, the living room, our room, the kids room.
I was a tornado of pent-up emotion and I whirled around that house the likes of which have NEVER been seen.

My husband stayed out of my way, but I did happen to hear him filling up the bathtub. Whenever I get upset because I’m tired, he always runs me a bath.
I didn’t bother to tell him because I knew he’d figure it out: there was NO hot water. The dishes took it all.
Just as soon as the water started, it stopped again. Anyway, the last thing I wanted was a bath when the house I’d cleaned once already was piled in crap.
By the end of the night, there wasn’t a dish in the sink (I’d had to do dishes again after picking up and finding dishes crammed in weird places around the house). There wasn’t any laundry on the couch.
The floors were clean.
The children were in their pajamas.
I had apologized for my bad behavior.
Scriptures were read.
Prayers were said.
And before I drifted off, my husband had me in stitches imitating a van he’d heard at work that sounded exactly like the gigantic mutant ants from the movie “Them.”

My husband is taking a computer class right now. He has to log 15 hours next week which means: 40 hours at work plus 15 hours at class… that’s A LOT of Mommymommymommy time.
Here’s hoping I can at least stay on top of the dishes without having to do them in 20 minutes:

without the BANG, SLAM, STOMP.