It's 5 pm. I hate 5 pm. It's the part of my day when things just go a little nuts. I'm tired and hungry, but more importantly, my kids are tired and hungry. My head hurts, my house is a disaster. There are literally toys strew everywhere. The noise level is unbearable. The baby is napping...well not for long. All of a sudden someone is crying, someone is starving, someone spilled, something broke, someone needs to be changed, someones at the door, someone peed on the floor...again and it feels like someone has turned up the heat. I am trying to keep everyone happy, cook dinner, pick up toys, change diapers and mostly just try to hear myself think.
Today, my four year old Owen is climbing up the drawers in the kitchen to see what is for dinner, he is singing as loud as he can and he can not walk anywhere..he has to run or jump. He won't share his toys with his brother or go in the other room as I try to prepare dinner in our tiny kitchen. He wants to stand right next to me, which of course adds the the drama. I turn and knock him over, I close the refrigerator, he opens it. I ask him to close it. He says no. I open the oven, he tries to throw his car inside of it so that, " it can get warm". All the while, my seven month old Max is crying. He has eaten a bottle, had his diaper changed and just woke up from a nap. Why is he crying? He must hate 5pm too. I pick him up while trying to load the dishwasher. The neighbor kids are ringing the doorbell and yes there is a sign that COVERS it that says, "Please do not right the bell". Owen asks what is for dinner. Owen starts crying because he doesn't like chicken. Owen tells me he will not eat dinner and lays on the kitchen floor and starts kicking. I set the baby in his high chair so that I can take the chicken out of the oven. Owen hits him on the head.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and try to keep myself from exploding. I turn off the TV for the 100th time today. I pull out coloring books and crayons for Owen. He settles down and starts to color. I give the remote control to Max. He has tons of toys but all he ever wants to play with is the remote control. I finish dinner, cut Owens up into small pieces and stick it in the refrigerator...he will not eat food unless it is cold. Finally, my husband walks in the door and I smile for the first time in the last hour. It is almost 6.