‘Tis the season, right? Our family typically gets a little explosive right in the midst of the holidays. Although, the whole winter season seems to be fair game when it comes to the stomach “flu.” One year it was so bad that Santa stuffed gastroenteritis into my stocking, courtesy of all the toilet-hugging I did at the beginning of Christmas break. This year it came early in November and to my surprise, only three out of the five of us shot it out of both ends.
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Ugh. She is me. But why is it so hard to admit that? I really should have more self-confidence by now and not allow myself to become a victim of ageism. Alas, I just don’t have the strength to find that inner psyche of “I am woman, hear me roar.” Too damn lazy for all of that.
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I didn’t go to Mexico. I didn’t drink any margaritas. Both would’ve been nice but it never actually happened, at least not since I’ve had children.
Continue readingAre there any wives out there that don’t pick on their husbands now and then? I don’t make it a habit to constantly be a nit-pick with mine nor do I ever run him down but after being married for 13 years, I’m entitled to the occasional wifey-nag and a little teasing every once in a while.
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August is rough, man. I’m dizzy with back to school clothes and supplies, the endless forms and fees, immunizations, sports practices, work, bills and trying to squeeze the last drop out of this short and sweet summer with one final trip to the lake. If that doesn’t overload the mom brain, try adding four birthdays into the mix and it’s almost enough to make me run away to California to join an orange-picking commune.
Nah.
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Yep. That’s generally how I feel about the extremely long list of school supplies I have to buy each summer for each kid.
I have kids in both private and public school this year and neither one is better than the other when it comes to draining my already limited cash flow. I have to ask myself, shouldn’t my expensive tuition cover the supplies my kids need or shouldn’t my super high property taxes and state taxes fund this stuff?
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I get it. My kids’ unrelenting naughtiness is my cross to bare. For those of us who are open to allowing the Lord into our hearts, we understand that suffering moves us closer to Him. Attempting to bring one, two, or three of my children to Sunday mass can sometimes be so tortuous that I think it could put me on the path to sainthood. Alas, I am no saint and try as I might, I will never be one.
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Middle school. Saying those two words out loud leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe it’s because I distinctly remember the smells that pubescent children would leave behind in the hallways. Whether it was from a lack of hygiene or a lack of fart etiquette, frequently having to walk through those invisible pockets of stench in between classes was not a pleasant thing.
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I’m drifting further away. Away from my family, my job, my messy house, motherhood, bills, stress, and responsibility. My soul is in a dreamlike state. My vision is partially blurred by the light and I can barely see my loved ones anymore. I hear soft, gentle sounds calling me into another world. I can feel my anxiety melting away as I stretch out my arms, reaching into the sky and allowing myself to float into the peace that awaits me here.
That is, until I catch a glimpse of a boat headed straight towards me and my floatie.
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I once told my husband that the only way we’d ever be able to go on a date is if we got divorced and each of us went out with someone else. I’d be his built in babysitter when I’d have the kids and he’d be mine on the weekends. Maybe that’s why so many people have affairs, because having someone at home holding down the fort makes it a lot easier for the other person to escape into a new, secret kind of world.
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Lady of Tumult 