Holy hell, I realize that is a very bad thing to mutter or yell during the Holiest of Holy Weeks, but there is truly just so much drama a fragile mama can withstand. And today I think I met that quota head on and then snuggled up to it and gave it just wee bit more head before I was done with it. Now I am spent, and not necessarily in a good, satisfied way either.
We are winding down with the ski season here. Freaking finally. This means that I can see a future in which I don’t have to wake up at 5:30 to face a day with screaming children only to leave work and come home to screaming children until 9 or 10 at night. But this also means that I will have to face the multitudes of things I have been putting off for the past four months now that I no longer have an excuse to say, “I’ll do that when the snow melts.” But then end of this push also means that I am at the end of my rope. Today I fell asleep in the car while I waiting for Loren to finish up with his jazz band practice. Then I fell asleep again while talking to Loren while we were waiting for Cass to finish her Catechism class. Then when we got home I fell asleep again while trying to figure out when I was going to do a load of laundry and serve up dinner. It was all just a wee bit much after a day of babies and parents.
Being at the end of my rope also seems to mean that I am missing the boat on this mothering thing. Sigh. Again, it’s always this mothering thing. They always want something, need my attention, demand some sort of decision. Right. Now. And right now? I don’t want to decide anything. I don’t want to mediate a fight between Loren and Cassidy. I don’t want to explain to Loren why he must suck it up and do his homework because that is what so much of life is: sucking it up and just fucking doing it. I don’t want to find socks. I don’t want to sign permission slips. I don’t want to figure out how I am going to afford summer activities while there is still snow on the ground. I don’t want to explain to Cassidy why she can’t light matches just because it is fun. I don’t want to tell Devon that he must actually eat something rather than just drink vanilla soy milk.
Apparently all I want to do is wine.