Ah, the infamous “Bitching Hour”—which, let’s be honest, lasts more like two hours. This is the time between 5 and 7 p.m. when you’re juggling dinner prep, baths, clothing, and desperately trying to get the kids to wind down for bed. This is the ultimate test for anyone in the parenting arena.
In my home, this is when the real madness unfolds. Hair is yanked, bites are exchanged, food is hurled, and toys are obliterated. And that’s just my part! The kids are darting around the house, seemingly intent on self-destruction, while I frantically shake the TV remote to drown out the chaos with some soothing news. And yes, I pour myself a generous glass of wine—make that several glasses.
During this time warp, I often find myself feeling utterly drained from the day. The noise level is magnified, and the tantrums become epic. If I’ve channeled my inner culinary goddess and prepared a nutritious meal, I’m left fuming when the kiddos refuse to take a single bite. Out come the instant noodles or eggs on toast, and depending on my patience level, I might even resort to cornflakes—hey, corn is a vegetable, fruit, and grain, so it counts!
After dinner, the little ones are often running around in their birthday suits, smearing sticky fingers across the walls. Meanwhile, our dog might be trying to play cleanup after a toddler mishap in the hallway. I desperately need more wine, and believe me, I need even more when I find myself scrubbing the floors and noticing that one child has transformed the empty bathtub into a makeshift playground, leaving a rather unpleasant surprise behind.
It’s only 5:45 p.m. at this point! Bath time feels like an eternity as the water cools down and the kids turn into little shivering prunes. By 6:15 p.m., I’m praying for a miracle. I attempt to dress them, but they scatter like little lightning bolts, giggling as they hide in the curtains. I manage to catch one and wrestle them into pajamas, only to discover the other has turned my makeup drawer into a glitter explosion and created a mini swimming pool in the middle of the room.
Finally, the exhausted little one is screaming from sheer fatigue, prompting me to toss him into bed without a story—let’s be honest, he won’t even remember it. The other child, however, insists on a story, so I read to her while fidgeting with drink bottles, socks, and night lights. If I’m lucky, she dozes off around 7 p.m. If I’m not lucky, I’ll be running back and forth 17 times, adjusting socks, toys, and checking that the sheets are tucked in just right.
As I finally manage to catch my breath, my husband arrives home. Cue the barking dogs, and just like that, both kids are awake again.
“How was your day?” he asks, blissfully unaware of the evening chaos.
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In summary, the “Bitching Hour” is more than just a time of day; it’s a whirlwind of chaos, noise, and the ultimate test of patience. But amidst the madness, there are moments of laughter and love that remind us why we endure it all.