I ought to know better. Just when I think "I can make it only another hour and no longer," I ought to realize that at the end of that hour I will find the means to go on after all because I haven't got any choice. Not really, I don't. Turn the kids over to their own self-destructive tendencies and just walk out the door? No, I can't do it. I have to go on, no matter how late The Man comes home, no matter how little sleep I've had, no matter how my head throbs from all the screams and whines, and no matter how badly the pain makes me want to throw up. Day after day after freakin' day.
So what I need to do is figure out how to live this way without losing hope, sanity, and self-control more than once per day. (Oooh, you're lucky you didn't hear me tonight. My family may never recover from all the screaming I did. One whine too many as I fixed dinner through my own sobs.) It helps to hear from my sister who is facing possible breast cancer and to read about other moms with chaotic lives. It does. To quote Morgan Freeman, "You are still alive."
Oh yes, and I need to figure out how to feed a family of 5 for the next 3 1/2 days on nothing but 3 loaves of bread and 2 fishes-- no, 2 containers of sour cream. And some mushy tomatoes. We have a little bit of cheese left, and... let's see... some canned peaches. Very little else, outside the spice/baking supplies cupboards. It's going to be a tight squeak until the windows of heaven open again on Friday. But we'll be OK. We will. What choice have we got?