Just be forewarned… If you are visiting here for some form of inspiration, you shouldn’t read this post. You might want to just ignore it. This is not a blog that only touts the beauty and wonder of homemaking, homebirthing, homeschooling, etc etc. This is a real blog. And sometimes life just sucks. Yeah, there’s a nicer word for it, but there’s also a much worse word. I’m making my momentary debut as a moderate…and it probably won’t last long, so enjoy it.

If you read yesterday’s post about our First Outdoor Hour Challenge, then you know there was a bit of drama with it. Well, that must have been a forewarning of the evening.

We have a rhythm to our day. And some days that rhythm has to become a schedule. Yesterday was one such day. We had the piano teacher here from 5p to 630p for three lessons and then one child had to be on the other side of the county, 30 minutes away, at 6p for football practice and another child back in the town next to ours at 645p for soccer practice. This is not whining. We knew it would be this way and fortunately for me, Husband was available to help. So we planned it out. And the afternoon/evening was *supposed* to go something like this…

330p – Get dinner in the oven/on the stove, finish any remaining lessons

430p – abbreviated afternoon chores, get dressed for football

445p – serve dinner

5p – football boy piano lesson while soccer kid gets ready

530p – beloved Husband arrives to pick up football boy and soccer kid and begin shuttling

530p-630p – remaining two piano lessons, clean up dinner/tidy house

630p-830p- enjoy downtime with the children left here

830p – Husband, football boy, and soccer kid return home, have a snack and football boy showers and finishes lessons (because he’d been dragging his feet on those all day)

930p – bed.

Now – I had to have this schedule. And all was going very well indeed until 5p. Piano teacher was late, no problem. While waiting, move on to getting soccer kid ready. I walked to his cubby basket where I had previously stored the socks and shinguards. Shinguards, CHECK! Socks? Socks?

*walked upstairs to look in drawer*

No socks.

Here’s where I messed up. Immediately upon the close of baseball season, I washed and folded, and placed in the correct place, all baseball gear downstairs in its own spot.

*goes downstairs to simply grab a pair of baseball socks which will surely be in the same place they were in at the end of June*

*sees that not only are the socks not where they were at the end of June, but every piece of clothing that was awaiting processing for hand-me-downs/donation/rags has been tampered with requiring the entire process to begin again*

* with blood pressure, that was already increasing and is now rising exponentially, yet manages to climb to the main floor and then upstairs to look for socks in eldest’s drawer*

*opens closet to see clothes shoved everywhere, albeit in the correct locations, no less shoved*

I then began my full-on Rumpelstiltskin-style hissy fit. I yanked those folded and shoved-in shirts off of the shelves. I yanked those folded and shoved-in britches off of the shelf. For good measure I pulled underclothes out of a drawer. And then down the stairs I stomp. And there’s Husband at the bottom seeing my ugly face.

“Why does Momma’s face look like this? It is not a good thing when her face looks like that.”

And I stomped. I stomped on the stair landing SO hard I busted two blood vessels in my lower left leg. I kid you not. I stomped just like Rumpelstiltskin and yelled with great anger my disappointment that I now had hours of work to do because of two children’s romp in an off-limit room. And then I was done.

And fortunately the piano teacher was still late.

Do I regret my tantrum? No. I don’t. They needed to see me lose my cool. They needed to see that I have deep emotion about my job and how I work hard to make it orderly and easy for us all most of the time. No one was hurt. Except me in my lower left leg with busted blood vessels. No one is scarred. And I did not apologize for my behavior. Which I will do when I am wrong. But this was not one of those times. Had things been left to be as each of these children has been clearly instructed and reminded on more than one occasion then this would have been a complete non-event and we’d only have been enjoying some extra time together as a family while the piano teacher was late.

Fortunately, we recuperated quickly and all enjoyed snuggles and an easy evening on the deck with a crisper-than-usual night. We snacked and giggled and watched the moon rise over the trees. All was good.
What’s my point of sharing my tantrum? It’s this: I am real. And I suspect you are, too. When reading so many of the homemaking or homebirthing or homeschooling or mothering blogs, it often looks as if the author is floating effortlessly from one challenge to the next, or even without any challenge. That is very discouraging some days. But know that she probably does have stumbling blocks. Maybe even tantrums. And maybe even Rumpelstiltskin moments. She’s just choosing not to share them. And that’s fine. It’s her space to share what she wants.

I don’t plan to share all my less-than-idyllic moments, either. But don’t expect me to have something uplifting to say everyday. I don’t wear many pins. I am just me. A Husband-loving, yippie (ask if you don’t know what that is) who happens to nurture a home and the people within it 24/7/365.

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