“Dear Loving Spouse,
I need to let you in on a secret you may not know.
You may not know because the children act differently when you are around, or you may not know because you are usually at work and miss the majority of this daily phenomenon.
But, there is a block of time known as the ‘witching hour.’
5 p.m. – 7 p.m.
I am unsure if it’s called this because the kids seem possessed, or because the children’s behavior is so vile that moms everywhere turn into evil witches.
My guess, it’s a little of both.
During these God forsaken hours, there is whining about hunger, but also whining about not being able to physically swallow the disgusting garbage dinner that was so lovingly prepared for them.
There are tears over boredom, but also tears because someone got punched in the neck by their brother for no reason what-so-ever. (Except maybe a gentle kick to the knee, but he was ‘just playing!’)
There will inevitably be a small fire, hopefully a figurative one.
Someone will complain of not feeling well, we will be reminded of a project or errand that simply MUST get done today, oh—and there’s a phone call I have to take. I need to create as much space between whoever is on the other end of the phone and these screaming banshee children, lest concern arise, and they call child protective services.
I often find myself locked in my room choosing to ignore the sounds of my home crumbling right outside my bedroom door.
The children will choose this moment to really amp up their crazy behavior.
They may sling the worst insults or potty words they know at each other. There will be hurt feelings. There may be blood.
I may consider becoming one of those moms who just vanish one day to start a new life across the country. Maybe.
Now, is typically when you, my love, call and say that you are running late and will be home ‘soon.’
WELL ‘SOON’ ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH.
I am already 6 feet past the end of my rope. I have turned into a monster, and bedtime can’t come fast enough.
If I could ask one thing of you, dear, it is to NEVER come home from work late, ever again.
The hours have been counted.
I have been waiting.
I love our kids so much, and I’m sure I will like them again tomorrow—but right now, I need a break.
I need relief. IT’S YOUR TURN.
But you are late, so I start the bedtime dreaded routine.
The kids lie about brushing their teeth, but whatevs. Who cares? They will get new teeth in a couple years. Amiright?
They read a book and pray the sweetest and most precious little angel prayers, which leads me to consider that they *may* actually have multiple personalities.
Finally, after what feels like FOREVER, it’s time to tuck them in. 12 times in a row because water, bathroom breaks and epic life questions. (I don’t know if boy angels have human testicles!)
Finally, a moment to breathe. (NOT)
I feel the wrinkles forming on my face as we speak.
Enjoy every moment. These are the days.
…BUT ALSO, feed into that 401K.
I am holding out that retirement is going to be bomb, and those will also be ‘the days’—only those days will have bingo, fanny packs, day drinking, and maybe some light elderly shoplifting that will go unnoticed because we will be so old and cute.
I don’t want to rush precious childhood, but it’s nice to dream of the future.
I love you.
And also, NEVER COME HOME LATE AGAIN.
Your Stressed Out Wife.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Stephanie Hollifield of Momstrosity. It originally appeared on their Facebook page. Submit your own story here, and subscribe to our best stories in our free newsletter here.
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