perspective from a selfless five-year-old

Did I mention D is working nights (yes, several times, I know)? I can now officially say-- I HATE NIGHTS. He is supposed to be working 6 PM-6 AM-- but it is more like he rolls into the house around 9:00 A.M (6 days a week). He is exhausted when he gets home, goofs around with the kids for an hour, and then hits the bed for sleep. Do you know where this leaves me? TOTALLY NEGLECTED. I feel like my tank is running on fumes. What has finally done it to me is Roger. I think he's been sick for the last 10 days-- running a slight fever and running (that means his bowels). He has been so clingly and crying all day.

After braving the ward waterslide party last night (think carrying Roger around all over the pool while trying to help Davis and Eliza with towels, climbing up a gigantic inflatable shark to slide down and such), we got home late and exhausted. At about 1:00 A.M., Roger decided he was going to wake up and scream. I still don't know what the deal was--maybe an upset stomach? Anyway, at 7:45 A.M., he is awake and screaming. I am sitting in bed, hoping that D will walk in the door and rescue me and Roger-- but after 10 minutes, I finally drag myself out of bed to be greeted by the crying devil. He has now awoken the twins and everyone is hungry. Guess What? No cereal. No milk. No bread. And to top it off- the counters are covered with dirty dishes.

I snap. I give D the 911 page (emergency-answer right away!). And when he calls back I am half pleading-half yelling- half begging him to COME HOME!!! D begins to explain how rough his night was and I have no patience for it. I hang up on him. I tell the kids to get shoes on, we are going to the grocery store for doughnuts for breakfast. I am crying. Roger is crying.

As I pull out of the driveway, I say, "Guys, mommy needs to pray." I stop what I am doing and offer a quick prayer-- you know the kind whispered aloud to Heavenly Father complaining about your kids behavior in hopes they will hear your desperation (in other words, not really a prayer, but a complaining session-not a hint of the spirit in sight).

Then I pull out of the driveway. I am still crying, the twins are silent, and Roger is still screaming. I finally say, "Sometimes I wish Roger wasn't born so I could just be with you and give you the attention you deserve. I am a bad mom."

Davis acknowledges, "But, mom, we love Roger."

Then Eliza adds, "Mom, we will start Kindergarten soon, and you can be all by yourself and we won't bother you."

I felt like I just got punched in the gut. It is sad I got to a point where I needed my own little 5-year-olds to remind me that I wouldn't give up any of them for a moment of sanity. I was in awe at the selflessness Eliza showed by telling me she wouldn't be around to bug me soon. I felt like I just got a swift kick in the butt.

I apologized and amended my comments. I let them know that I love each of them-- even the screaming Roger and didn't want any of them to go away to school to give me more alone time. School was for them to learn about the world so they could be happy.

We got doughnuts and with some sugar in our systems, we all felt better. When I got home, D was home. He is now picking up fallen apricots with the kids outside and I am reflecting. Hopefully I can keep this all in perspective and realize that these hard times are fleeting. The kids will grow. Eventually Roger will talk and tell me what is wrong. Maybe through this residency journey I will learn to cool my temper better and handle these tough days. Here's to hope. . . . .