It hits me in the early afternoon, phone to my ear, bent over my bed folding a load of towels. I’m still in my pajamas with a sweatshirt thrown on for good measure (just in case someone unexpectedly rings the doorbell…which pretty much never happens); my hair in ponytail atop my head; no remembrance of brushing my teeth. I’m between loads of laundry, paying bills and balancing the checkbook, teaching the girls, all-around housework and homeschooling.

I’m the proverbial housewife.

No one thing to define me except that. I daydream about having a job where I wear clothes, not pajamas. I wonder what it’s like to have adult conversations instead of doling out a to-do list for the children who will argue and whine about it. I imagine having a few minutes of alone time in my car every day.

I live in a world where children must go to my doctor’s appointments with me; where I can’t go to the restroom (ever) without one of the kids coming to find me to talk; where an uninterrupted thought is unheard of; where my biggest daily concerns are laundry, groceries and schoolwork; where I am isolated with three children.

I have what seems a million things to do, none of which are important to anyone outside my household. Yet, I wonder if I do any one of these things well.

Picture the proverbial frazzled housewife, minus bon-bons and tv time…that’s me.

Everyone on the social networks keeps talking about Charlie Sheen’s interviews and how awful he is. I have no idea what they’re talking about. I haven’t seen the news in days, possibly weeks, other than to check the weather website.

I have five and a half hours a week, at best, without my children. Even those hours are spent running errands, making lists, attempting to write something sane for this blog.

I think I’m having an identity crisis. My life has culminated into a point over the last six weeks, and I’m asking myself just what it is that identifies me. What sets me apart. What makes me different. How am I using my life experiences. I don’t have an answer. All I know is that I’m drowning in housewifedom, and I see no light at the end of the tunnel…not even a glimmer….not so much as a break.

I don’t claim to be complaining here, but I’m sure it seems that way. I love my children, I love being a stay-at-home mom, I love homeschooling (most days), I love my life. But…I’m overwhelmed. To say that I’m not would be a lie. To say that I don’t long for something more some days would also be a lie. To say that I don’t want something just for myself, that makes me…me, that doesn’t revolve around my children or my husband or my house, that someone else can’t imitate, would be lying.

I realize the risk I’m taking in sounding selfish. But, today, if I’m being truthful and transparent with you, I’m being selfish…

And if you feel the need to comment and tell me how I should be thankful for x, y, z, or to quote Scripture to me to remind me not to be selfish…please restrain yourself.