I decided that I needed the homemaker satisfaction today.  My toddlers didn’t get the memo.

I shuffled them into another room so that I could steal a few moments to bake some things from scratch.  Baking from scratch has a wholesome feeling—the kind of feeling that I might have if I were good at this mommy/homemaker stuff.

I baked the banana bread and did a load of laundry.  I shredded apples and put them into the crock pot to try out making apple butter (so far, so good!).  I unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher.  I put the butternut squash in the oven while it was still hot from the banana bread.  I did another load of laundry.  I scrubbed the kids’ bathroom counter.  I folded laundry.  I made the butternut squash into soup.

Then, I was frustrated.  In the middle of preparing the 7,458th cup of milk/V8 fusion/water (as in “You’ve already had juice…you get water…I know that was your sister, but you’ve had juice too…Nope, you’ve had milk too…if you’re thirsty, drink this water…you’ve already had your almond milk today…well, I’ll just put this cup of water over here on this counter…oh, you want it now?…you’re welcome)/carrot sticks/ banana bread/granola bars/etc., I realized that I was STILL far from being done.  I’m looking for that gratification that comes from completing the task of homemaking for one more day and I sit and with my laptop and a cup of tea (and hopefully, my husband) and concludes that I have accomplished something.  I’m only home one night a week, so, I need to get in my jollies while I can.  I was frustrated that my satisfaction felt so unreachable.

There were glimmers of hope.  My daughters asked if they could vacuum.  Bless them!  Well, they sucked up something.  I still haven’t had time (I mean energy.  No I don’t.  I mean patience.) to identify what exactly…because I don’t  want something else to clean up.

Also, my two-yr-old gleefully skipped through the kitchen repeatedly.  She was announcing her existence.  I thought that I needed to stop and acknowledge her.  I held her and played with her.  I told her, “You smell good.  Why do you smell like peppermint?”  She replied, “My hands are sticky.”  That was accurate.  Apparently, her sister had found a stash of peppermint candies and she was kind enough to share with her sister.  How thoughtful!  The entire media room is covered in peppermint slime.  Great.

No problem.  I’ll just mop.  Uh, huh.  Why is the vinegar empty?  I’m not really sure why, but I’m really glad that I chose something natural to make a mop solution!  It looks like the little stinkers got into that too.

Yesterday, I found the two-yr-old (same one who smelled like peppermint) using anti-frizz serum instead of soap to wash her hands.  Really, how do you mistake those textures?

Sometimes, I just want to yell, “Mommy has two part time jobs and she really needs you to pause the destructive behavior because she doesn’t have time to fix these things and find the solace that comes from completing the homemaking tasks!”   I doubt that my 3 ½ yr old and 2 yr old would see my point.

There were a lot of good moments.  Reading a chapter of Farmer Boy with my 7 yr old, hearing my daughters request bedtime songs, hearing them giggle, making plant based meals from scratch, and completing the kids’ laundry all go on the list of good things today.  No satisfaction of being all the way done, but that’s okay.  Not really.  It bugs me, but I sound really neurotic if I don’t say that I’m settling for “good enough” despite circumstances.