Paul has been home for a week now, but has tried to keep himself sequestered in the bedroom for his job search. I’m so glad that he is staying so focused with this entire thing. When he’s down in the living room with the rest of us, the kids have been pretty calm. At the beginning of the week I thought, great, now he’ll finally have an idea of why I’m so tired at the end of the day, but after a week I’ve resigned myself to accepting that he’s never going to really understand.
He didn’t hear the screaming when Boy Blue knocked a shelf from the bookshelf onto himself, and while he didn’t hit Lucy, it scared her and they both screamed in my ears for ten minutes. He never saw how difficult naptimes can be. And he didn’t even hear me, in desperation late on Friday afternoon, shriek at my own children to “leave me alone!” because they wouldn’t stop pulling my hair and pestering me while I tried to calm two tired babies.
He may never really know what my days are like, but I hope he appreciates it nonetheless. I hope he knows that while I’m only bringing in enough money to cover half of rent, that I am working hard, and I am doing what I can to give our children a stimulating, loving environment. (Well, except for that whole leavemealone bit.) I hope he knows how much I love him, and that caring for our children is one of the ways I’m trying to show him.