"Why're you so grumpy all the time?"

How many times have you been asked that question? For me? It's almost daily. It's true most of the time. I admit that I get grumpy on a regular basis. However, I feel it's my duty as a mother and wife, as well as my God given right.

Why am I consistently irritable?

Let me preface my answer by saying that since I am writing this in the non-existent gap of time between what's left of late evening and bedtime, so it's going to be fairly short, skimming over the main points of interest, or rather, the main points of why Ruby is her usual crotchety self.

You've read my writings. You know me. I'm just like you. I work a full-time job. I am a wife. I am a mother of four children - three of whom should be principally self-sufficient. I get up in the morning and get myself ready, pack my bag with coffee, lunch, etc. Sometimes I need to get the kids up and around. Sometimes not. Go to work. Come home from work.

Like I said.... skimming the surface. So far - so good.

Now, on this particular evening (and thank God it's hump day (Wednesday)), I come through the door to my son jumping out of the closet to scare me. It worked. Okay.... That was funny. But in trying to get him back, the two younger girls decide it would be fun to let the cat out of the bag and blow Mom's cover. I give up and set to unpacking my work bag, taking off my boots and coat and try to make my way down the hall to my bedroom so that I can change into my sweatpants.

Simple enough, right?

I walk into my room and begin undressing. As a ritual, someone's going to walk in and start a conversation. Or maybe I'll get lucky this evening and actually make it to the bathroom before someone comes in to tap on the door and ask me a question, that A. could have been asked later, or B. could have been asked to someone other than me.

My room is a mess. Typically I feel guilty about this. I feel like I should spend a few minutes and pick it up. I try not to think about it, because thinking about this type of thing is dangerous. Here is where I can walk to the edge and clearly see all the way down, including every spiky rock and shrub sticking out of the side. I look at the mess: the vacuum not put back where it belongs so I can stub and possibly break another toe (I think I might have one good one left); I see the pile of dirty laundry and wonder why nobody but me can return the dirty clothes bin to the proper place, I see the open closet doors and the kids toys and a pile of tealight candles and a stack of cd's. My bedroom is the official dumping ground for things when the kids are just too lazy to actually find the correct spot for displaced items.

My bathroom: the top is once again off the can of shaving cream, leaving a sticky ring on the counter top. The lid is off the Q-tip canister. Toothpaste in the sink. Wet towel on the floor. Enough said.

I have been trying to make plans for this weekend with my sister. And common sense tells me that to move towards this goal, I should make some nightly progress on the laundry. I remind you that there are six of us in this family so there is a lot of laundry. I have accepted that it's just a way of life. However, when I am the only one who can throw a load in the washer, then throw it in the dryer, then carry it upstairs and fold it - and nobody offers to help - nobody will even help when I ask them to, it's very disheartening, especially when they all want something.

I've changed my clothes, I've started some laundry, now I heat up some leftovers for dinner. But trying to maneuver around the kitchen to do this is another episode of too many bodies in a small space. Trying to get around this person or that person, while finding a clean spoon is never easy...... And now we're just about to the point where the onslaught of Mom's moodiness creeps in. A simple "Excuse me", or a polite "Get out of the way" never accomplishes what it is so simply meant to do. In fact, just the opposite happens when these types of phrases are spoken. They are typically answered with a sarcastic tone of voice, or an adverse action of the one desired.

They can never simply get out of the way. There's never just a peaceful dinner. It's a million questions, or a burp-n-fart fest, or somebody is whining about where they are sitting.

"Oh Mom. You need to give me your tax info and create and pin and sign off on my Fafsa, because the deadline in tomorrow."

"Hey Mom, are you gonna wash a load of darks, 'cause I need some boxers washed."

"Mom, I need you to sign this permission slip because it was due yesterday."

"Mom, can I play with Moonsand?"

Whoever invented Moonsand should have their toenails nibbled off by rabid mice.

So, excuse me if I'm a little tense, grumpy, out of sorts, frazzled. I don't know who planted the fantastical idea in my silly little head that when I get home from work I should be able to relax. Please forgive me. I don't know what I was thinking.

I look over at my clock and see the time. Usually by now I've got my things laid out for another day at work; my coffee maker is set and the pre-measured amounts of water and coffee are in their proper places; my teeth are brushed, notes are signed, plans are made for tomorrow, the last of the laundry is folded and put away - and then typically it's way past the time I ineffectively designate as my bedtime.

So I suppose, tomorrow, we'll do it all over again. (yippee!!)