Some things are possible

I've been having a really hard couple weeks on the mommying front. It's not the old problem where I struggle over wanting to do my own thing--I actually feel pretty okay about that stuff, and I enjoy the time I spend directly interacting with my little people too. But I'm super depressed by the constant disastrously messy state of my house. If I try to get up and do anything about it, Noah either a) gets into what I'm doing causes trouble or b) tries to follow me around, gets freaked out by my constantly walking away from him, and follows me around crying.

I have thus discovered that a small person following me around crying is my #1 mind-destroying rage trigger. Daniel's grown out of it, so I hardly clash with him at all anymore except when my temper has already been snapped by his brother. But when he was right around this age was when I couldn't take it anymore and had to go into counseling.

So to avoid the rage, I end up just staying in the same place, and when I'm boring, Noah entertains himself or is entertained by his brother. Sometimes he checks in and we play a little. Or I can play with Daniel, who I have more fun with the older he gets, and Noah hangs out with us. And in between, I actually get a lot of time to myself--in fact, all the time I want to sit around and read or whistle or do heraldry or whatever.

But I hate having a messy house. I feel like a pig. The fridge and the dishes stink. Noah's run out of pajamas. The shower is a science experiment. I'm really worried about Daniel's degree of constant exposure to TV and convenience food, and about not teaching him to clean and cook too. We have way too freaking many toys, even after Daniel helped me fill two boxes with donations. I don't know where to put any of my SCA-related crafty stuff.

For the last week or so I've been twiddling with this text file on my computer where I try to imagine my totally ideal, Mary Sue-ified self, as if she were a fictional character. Someone who has all the skills I want and makes time for all the things I want. Smart and kind, funny and humble, loud and quiet, playful and spiritual, artistic and domestic, a beautiful clean house full of good smells and happy people and music and books and video games and completed projects. But this character doesn't make any sense to me. Nothing I do seems to make her seem realistic or possible. And none of these traits are things I feel are dispensable, or are merely being imposed on me from the outside. I really want them. I really want them.

Hmph.

Anyway. I need to find a way to talk someone into hanging out at my house all day every day for like a week and play with my kids so I can at least whip my domicile into shape and stop feeling so imprisoned by it. I'm not sure that's possible, though. I don't know what to do.

...I was aiming toward ending this on a despairing sort of note, but oh my goodness Noah is being adorable right now. O_______O ♥ Aaaaah.

At some point, invisibly, I progressed to the point of finally really feeling that the benefits of parenthood outweigh the pain. Because the number one thing I want most in the world--really, the very most, this is not a hyperbole--is to have a bunch of kids who like each other and play together. And right now, whatever else may be going on, I totally have the beginnings of that. And it is wonderful. I just wish I wasn't so terrible at everything else.