Hot angry tears. The kind that you told yourself you didn’t have time for only 5 minutes ago.
The kind of tears that solve nothing but to remind you that you are having a hard day.
Useless, hot, angry and despairing tears.
You know it’s going to be funny one day.
You know that it’s going to be funny the minute you tell someone else what happened.
But right now, you are so emotionally and physically spent there is only room for useless, hot, angry and despairing tears.
Your husband walks in the door and is immediately concerned.
Coming home and seeing one’s wife crying is possibly not the norm in your house.
He asks you what is wrong and you know as the words come out of your mouth that he is going to laugh.
At you, at your reasons and at the situation.
If you were him you would laugh too.
But right now you feel like your soul is being smashed into pieces by the minituae of your life with three small children.
It’s the two year old twin boys that get you the most. The indescribably constance of their activity.
They couldn’t stop if they even knew how.
So much learning and evolving and growing up to do. Together.
It must be difficult for them – competing for attention, space and the right to learn something new.
With each other. With their sister.
You understand their position. They are 2, after all.
They want to have fun.
But does fun have to include climbing on top of your only space in the house out of reach? The space where you keep the remote control, the printer and the glass
you are too lazy to haven’t had a chance to take to the kitchen yet?
One opened the drawers to the computer table, climbed from them onto the chair, onto the desk, onto the breakfast bar height bench, onto the printer. Pushed and smashed nearly everything to the ground, except the printer.
The other got as far as sitting on the edge on the desk, and the look of triumph on his face was priceless.
Meanwhile their sister found her way onto the chair, turned on the speakers, and smashed at the keyboard to hear the computer blip and groan in protest.
All in the space of time it took you to go to the kitchen, cut up an apple and make three peanut butter sandwiches and cut off the crusts.
Because you were trying to be a nice mum.
And you didn’t cry. You cleaned up, made sure no one had cut feet from the smashed glass. Changed nappies, put the twins to bed and set the girl up with the play-dough you made her yesterday and all the accessories.
You realise this is actually a milestone – the discovery that their limbs obey their will and that no frontier is out of reach.
But you are so defeated you can’t do anything more than dread tomorrow. Because what on earth else could possibly go wrong today?
And then only three hours later your question is answered.
Once again you dare to leave the room for longer than the two minutes you allow yourself for toilet breaks.
You hear crying and screaming, followed by: “Having a BATH!”
Your head tells you: “surely not”. Your heart hopes: “Please no”. But your mother’s intuition knows.
You enter the room to find one twin crying and kicking around on the ground.
Your daughter is sitting on her knees, ever so carefully tipping the last and final drink bottle into the empty toy box.
In which the other twin is sitting, splashing and enjoying himself immensely.
In as much juice as three drink bottles hold.
You don’t bath him. You wipe him down with baby wipes and hope that serves him a lesson.
How dare he have fun and leave you with the clean up?
Who does he think you are? His mother?
And then you remember that you are his mother and this is your job. Your life.
That you wished for it, prayed for it.
Prayed you wouldn’t have your children taken from you.
Hoped desperately this would be your fate when all the signs screamed at you that chances were, you would lose one of them.
And you know you are grateful. That every day is a blessing. You cherish these children with all of your being.
But you cry your hot, angry, useless and despairing tears.
Because today is hard. It is tiring. And it’s only one day of the many you will spend parenting and doing your best to keep them safe.
And because no matter how unintentionally, today your children were hard.
Tomorrow, you will get up and do it again. They will most probably do it again.
They will win this battle. They will win many more.
But you will win the war. They will grow. They will live their lives as independent, decent human beings.
And you will survive.