Husband, I’m sorry you get me at my worst

You know the drill. It’s been a long day. Our kids tested us to the very limit.

We miraculously got them to school on time (ish). We slid into work like we were sliding in for the winning home run — except the rest of the team is making serious side eye because they’ve been here for a while now.

We get a phone call from school. Good Lord, what is it now?

We have to pick our kid up early. Or it was just a heads up that little Billy is coming home with a black eye.

And just like that, it’s time to pick up the kids. Not much got done from when we last saw them — where exactly did that time go?

We shuffle them home where they are hungry for snacks. Hungry for attention. Hungry for stimulation, diversion, touch.

It’s like walking across burning coals as we try to tip toe with the right words, the right actions, the right snacks. Wondering what will set off a tantrum. What will cause a power struggle. A meltdown. Our kids worked hard at school all day, and they’re spent too. Home is a safe zone for them, so we get them at their worst (just as they get us at our worst too).

Someone needs to figure out dinner. Someone needs to pull out homework. Someone needs to start the laundry. And there ain’t anyone in the house over age six so that someone is us.

By the time our partner gets home? We are spent. He comes in for a kiss, and we just want to bolt. We’ve had our physical touch for the day. We just sent Billy to his room as he kicked and screamed the whole way. Don’t touch me… grab the kids and move them away from my line of sight for a few minutes if you really want to help.

And now you want to know about our day? And it all comes out. Not as a “Wow, look at what I accomplished today!” But more like, “Here’s what you missed, bud.” And our voice is hostile and passive aggressive and contempt. But we can’t help it. And it’s not fair to him, but its’ like the Instant Pot pressure release has been turned and there’s no going back.

And we know our partner wasn’t at a day spa all day. They were working their ass off. But we’re just too tired to sympathize. We are spent. We are tired, and frustrated, and quite simply? Pissed.

So the evening ends with us saying “No more questions! Mommy’s done!” And we go to bed with guilt because the one person who wants to be there, who wants to help and who wants to have time with the kids, instead got dismissed and sucker punched.

But we promise ourselves we will try again tomorrow. We will do better tomorrow.

We don’t want to be pissed. We try not to be pissed. But sometimes being home brings out the worst in us. Our partners get the worst of us.