Frustration

This week had a sense of forboding. Mid term and in service days mean a full week without nursery or playgroup for Cubling, and this is the week where both kids take turn being unwell. There are sore ears, sore tummies, runny noses, raging temperatures, oh and that crackling cough that is more often than I like followed by a pause in breathing or a projectile resurgitation of milk. She throws up so often that sometimes I only notice after the milk has dried on the carpet.

I have so many things planned, but it's a struggle just to make it through the day. The frustration grinds when even the simplest task on my to do list doesn't get done, while others are so clearly out of the reach of the doable that I don't even attempt to tackle them. A baby needing carried while a preschooler needs entertained or cuddled. Two little ones moaning and whinging because they're not well. The frustration that nothing I try and do makes them feel any better.

I haven't knit in days. It matters, even if it seems a small thing. It speaks volumes about the lack of time for anything but the basics, the washing, cleaning, dressing, cooking, cuddling and trying to keep both kids in the best mood they've got at the moment (which is not a good mood), all on two hours of sleep. The worry that is Snowflake, because I've lost the ability to trust my instinct which was so wrong before.

And after the 100th time Cubling whinged about her earache today, after the 50th time she complained about the 10 minute walk home, after 2 years of her refusing to feed herself or finish dinner in less than an hour so that we could actually have some family game/play time before bed time, after two days of not being able to stop the relentless sounds of complaint out of Snowflake's mouth for more than 5 minutes, I lose the will to be the reasonable adult and surrender to the frustration of it all.

And hate myself for it.