Christ on a popscicle stick, if I am not in a wollowly trough, then I simply haven’t the foggiest idea where I could possibly be. I sure as fuck hope I am not slipping into a depression, though I think the symptoms are just too acute for that to be the case. I don’t have PMS. I think I am just worn out and burned out. The single mom gig has hit home pretty hard lately. Over the summer my mom mentioned one day that she “had let herself get swallowed up by the kids and me” and that she simply found no joy in most things. It was sort of an odd comment when she followed it up by saying that she only got joy by spending time with the kids. I remember wondering how that could be if she was lodged somewhere in our selfish bellies, but rather than focusing on her lack of accurate bitching, I decided right there and then to extricate myself from her everyday life. So now I do everything for the kids. This shouldn’t be a huge deal since I am their mom and all, but it is tiring. I make sure that all the many car pools and errands are run by me and only me. If this means rearranging my whole day so that Devon gets an earlier nap and I have to get up an hour earlier to work, then so be it. I do the grocery shopping, the cooking, the laundry and all the homework for the kids. My mother spends most of her time in her room working on her computer and dropping hints here and there about being left out or discarded. Whether or not this is true, the fact remains that I am now single parenting a teen a ‘tween and preschooler and, this should be read in the whiniest of voices, it’s really, super hard.
After a summer of running here and there I thought my days would be carefree and productive once the kids returned to school. Not to be. I have crashed. This week I have returned to bed everyday after dropping the kids off at school. On the days when I have Devon I have shamelessly make use of Pixar and the DVD player. I get out Buzz, Woody and the cast from Cars (a new addition to our line up) and then close my eyes until Devon nudges me awake. But on the days when he is in school I come back to the house, crawl into Cassidy’s bed (because her room can be made the darkest) and then I read a bit and blissfully slip into sleep until noon. Today I spiced things up a bit by stopping by the store after I picked up Devon and grabbing a bag of gummi cola bottles and a pint of raspberry sorbet. Then we came back and I turned on Cars and ate the entire pile of sugar while reading.
This morning my mother interrupted my routine by trying to get to the bottom of my bullshit. “It’s not normal to wallow like this. But it happens. You know there’s a new book coming out that tells how Mother Theresa was in darkness for 40 years, but she learned to embrace the darkness.” Oh, right because she and I are soooo alike, me being a saint and all. The Miatch then went on to say that I had been better when I was going to yoga several times a week and that tomorrow I should really go into the studio and get my act together. I told her that it sounded like a good idea but the truth of it was that I simply don’t feel like doing anything. Nothing. But I also said I would give it a go.
So part of me feels like allowing her back into my inner sanctum and being a team player. But the other part? That part that is still 14 and smarting from too many rejections? That one says fuck no. So tomorrow I will muster up the energy to get to yoga class and then I’ll try to grab some more strength to pull my head out of my ass and get my act back together. I will try super hard not to go back to bed tomorrow, at least not until night time. I will try not to let Devon’s sweet voice grind on my nerve endings. I will not growl at Cassidy. I will even get some work and laundry done. As for the inner sanctum, I don’t know. I think opening those doors might be more energy than I have.

Cassidy rarely combs her hair and more often than not goes around looking like an under fed orphan. Only about two times a year, Christmas and picture day, am I allowed near her head. Then she lets me brush out the dreadlocks, dry it and put some curlers in. After that it is back to the orphan look. Devon and I went to the coolest park yesterday where he managed to completely intimidate a 15 month old named Marley. He only wanted to play but he is used to playing with much older kids, her mom did not appreciate Devon’s efforts to tackle her on the slide. Whimpy bitch.