When I felt sad...

I don't talk about the hardships of being a mother. Or being a SAHM {stay-at-home-mom}. 

We all want out blogs to be fun! and lovely! and whimsy! and to seem perfect to outsiders' eyes. 

Nobody knows that I'm in my pajamas from last night, wearing hair that's been creased by a ponytail for two days. Nobody knows that by reading my blog posts. 

In SAHM-ing, some days can be fun. Some days are truly hard.

Some are s   l   o   w while others are fast. 

I don't have to explain to a single mother how hard life is when you're responsible for your mini-me versions to make sure they turn out alright in this world.

Sometimes that pressure is too much.

Most days, I can handle it. As my guy would say, 'what are you gonna do about it?'

Psh, like that comforts me? But he's right.

I need to put on my big girl panties and take frickin' toddlerhood by the horns.

but the other night was different.

I had been dealing with back pain due to a super stunt by little Jonah that caused me to jump over a couple of 6 ft. fences. You see, he locked us outside our house since locks to him are all the rage lately. 

I had no one to call. Well, I guess I called everybody-- but no one would be able to come and help. 

So these ninja fence-jumps I had to make, I had no idea that I could do it in the first place--secondly, I had no idea that my body couldn't take that kind of adrenaline rushed action. 

Hence the back pain. I couldn't bend over for more than 10 seconds.

And with two wild monkeys running wild in super hero underwear, bending over is required 200X a day!

To make this story short, it was one afternoon and I finally decided to detach myself.

I was tired of yelling at the kids. I was tired of my back hurting.

I was tired of not having my husband here.

I was sick with guilt.

From being a bad mother.

From wishing he was home so that he could deal with the kids when he's had a full days work and I know he just needs to relax. 

I was sick of guilt from feeling like I couldn't handle it.

Like I said, the pressure is just immense! 

What would the world think of me? How do I deal with myself after this? What will people say?

How will the kids ever forgive me for being so mean to them? 

After all, they're just kids and they do NOT deserve a bitchy mom.

About 30 minutes before I knew my guy would rescue me, I left the TV on. The kids eyes immediately glued themselves to that screen. I, then, marched stiffly up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom.

Sometimes, crying your eyeballs out is required.

Other, more stressful times, need a good song to let you shake loose and scream at the top of your lungs.

Sometimes, you just need a good wall to punch {I really like this option the best, but hurt back, remember?}

But that night, all I could do was take a nice warm bath to escape it all.

I didn't answer the  boys when they realized I had disappeared and came knocking at the door {how is that they ALWAYS find you?} I had that pit feeling in my stomach that something horrible would happen to one of them because I wasn't downstairs watching them. I was overcome with guilt.  And fear.  And defeat.

After a few moments, I heard that front door open and a sense of relief came over me.

The boys would be watched now and I could finally sulk in the warm water without any fear.

I was still full of guilt though.

After he tried talking to me through the locked door without an answer, he knew I was in there and didn't wanna talk--so he let me be. 

And all of a sudden a frickin' lightbulb went off in my head.

I need to draw. 

I need to distract my mind. I need to relax.

And what better way to do that than with some Crayola bathtub markers? 

 I don't really draw when I'm sad. I only draw when I'm inspired {I say that with an imaginary stuck up artists way of saying it, you know, use your hands and tilt your head a little...} 

But this time it was different.

It was like it was the only thing I could do. That I needed to do.

Maybe it was logical. 

There's a marker there. I am an artist...Put one and one together, you get a bathtub masterpiece. 

 But it was different. It felt like it was what I needed to do to get myself out of that pathetic funk I was in. 

To get me over that stupid feeling of being a failure when I know I am no such thing.

 I felt peace when I was drawing this. 

I felt joy and sadness at the same time. I don't really know how to explain it. 

Perhaps it's a new technique I need to look into to reach a potential, if any at all. 

I mean, it's a bathtub doodle. 

A washable, completely NOT permanent, "plant" drawing as Andrew called it during its short lived life.

These pictures are all that remain of it. 

How funny that something so temporary can change me, possibly from now on?

I took phone pics of it because I wanted to remember that feeling I got in my gut when I grabbed that chunky red marker. How, instantly, I felt a little better.

All I know is that for the first time, my emotions got manhandled by my art.

And I liked it.

Often, I regret the course I've chosen for my life. All those bad decisions. 

But then I slap myself and think that there wasn't anything else I was supposed to be doing with my life than being a Mom. 

 

PS. If you are wondering what kind of markers I used, here's some on Amazon.