Today, I felt defeated. I wake up in the morning and I hate it. I just want to lay in bed. But, I get up. I get dressed. I get the kids up. I yell every five minutes to get them motivated. Nothing works. They ask me for things I cannot give them. One kid gets up and dressed and is ready while the other one lingers in bed. Whines about getting up. Frowns or cries. They take turns being the kid at my heels who is ready and asking for a bunch of things I cannot give them. Then one wants piggy tails and the other wants to take a toy to school. "Yes, no, no, no, maybe, JUST BE GOOD TODAY." I say over top of two kids asking for different things at once. I rush around in circles, tripping on one kid who is laying on the floor with toys that move on their own and another who is crying because they can't find their boots and they are suddenly sick and need medicine. I scream and swear some more. "MOVE your BUTTS. GET OUT THE DOOR!" I feel like a broken record. I manage to get them out the door, eventually. I forgot that I had an appointment and I swear. My kid says, "you shouldn't swear." I think about the conversation I had the day before with the caregiver at pick-up where they tell me my kid was swearing. "ADULTS ARE ALLOWED TO SWEAR." I say through my teeth. I get them in the car and one is having trouble with their seat-belt and is frustrated. I help even though they didn't ask. I remind them to ask for help. Mom gets it, but not everyone knows what they need. I remember being a kid never learning that I need to ask for help. It was hard to learn it as an adult. I still try sometimes to do it all on my own.
I click my own seat-belt and close my eyes. I apologize for yelling. This isn't the life I want. I don't want to be frustrated all the time. I get them out of the car. I hug them and kiss them and they both sort of act annoyed with me. We get inside and one is upset because they asked to unlock the door and another adult was ahead of them, so the door is already open. They fight over the last door. Then one cries because she doesn't want to be in school. I am frustrated. I take a breath and help them out of their coat. I hug them extra hard. I hold their tiny bodies and I understand. I close my eyes and recall what it was like to be little. Every time I get off the phone with my father, I am left feeling down and empty for at least a day. I understand what it is like to be drained and just want love and comfort. My mom was always running around, too busy or tired to give me what I needed. I understand the makings of co-dependency. I'm feeding into it. I am frustrated with myself for not being sure how to deal with it. So, I hug them extra hard and give words of comfort. "I'll get you as soon as I am done with work and we can cuddle on the couch." That seems to appease, for now.
I walk out the door and I am overwhelmed with sadness. Defeat. I reach for my phone and I want to call you. I think of calling someone else. Not even talking to my mom sounds good to me. I can't put this on you. I don't even want it, why would you? I just want to hear your voice and know that everything is okay. I don't know if you're even alive. I suck in air and wonder if I should try to call. If you don't answer, at least I'll be able to cry about all of this, having felt rejection to top it off. I take in more air and I drive. I have to drop my car off. I'll figure it out after that. I stop and get breakfast to-go. I don't finish it all. Suddenly, not sure why my stomach is growling and I don't want to fill it. I attempt to figure out the loaner car and I give up after drifting lanes. I hate big cars and they gave me an SUV at the body shop. My insides feel like acid flowing through my body. I need to be ready when I sit down at my desk. Pretend that none of this is happening. Put on my smiles and be ready to cram more information in. I am learning a new cell line today. My co-worker walks by my desk and apologizes for not being able to show me anything for another two hours. I thank the universe for the extra time to decompress. I think about sorting dirty laundry in the closet, gathering up four baskets to wash. I know there's a load in the washer and the dryer. I thought, I can't do this alone! But, I still manage to anyway. I talk myself out of that thought by understanding that I still don't even see a man helping me because I've never seen a good example of it. I've never lived it, either. It's hard to fathom something that has never existed for me.
It's all just pointless and I have to deal with it. I listen to music loud and get ready to forget all of this pain so I can do my job. The sooner my day is over, the sooner I can go pick up my car, hopefully fixed. The sooner I can get my kids. And start disappointing them all over again.
I click my own seat-belt and close my eyes. I apologize for yelling. This isn't the life I want. I don't want to be frustrated all the time. I get them out of the car. I hug them and kiss them and they both sort of act annoyed with me. We get inside and one is upset because they asked to unlock the door and another adult was ahead of them, so the door is already open. They fight over the last door. Then one cries because she doesn't want to be in school. I am frustrated. I take a breath and help them out of their coat. I hug them extra hard. I hold their tiny bodies and I understand. I close my eyes and recall what it was like to be little. Every time I get off the phone with my father, I am left feeling down and empty for at least a day. I understand what it is like to be drained and just want love and comfort. My mom was always running around, too busy or tired to give me what I needed. I understand the makings of co-dependency. I'm feeding into it. I am frustrated with myself for not being sure how to deal with it. So, I hug them extra hard and give words of comfort. "I'll get you as soon as I am done with work and we can cuddle on the couch." That seems to appease, for now.
I walk out the door and I am overwhelmed with sadness. Defeat. I reach for my phone and I want to call you. I think of calling someone else. Not even talking to my mom sounds good to me. I can't put this on you. I don't even want it, why would you? I just want to hear your voice and know that everything is okay. I don't know if you're even alive. I suck in air and wonder if I should try to call. If you don't answer, at least I'll be able to cry about all of this, having felt rejection to top it off. I take in more air and I drive. I have to drop my car off. I'll figure it out after that. I stop and get breakfast to-go. I don't finish it all. Suddenly, not sure why my stomach is growling and I don't want to fill it. I attempt to figure out the loaner car and I give up after drifting lanes. I hate big cars and they gave me an SUV at the body shop. My insides feel like acid flowing through my body. I need to be ready when I sit down at my desk. Pretend that none of this is happening. Put on my smiles and be ready to cram more information in. I am learning a new cell line today. My co-worker walks by my desk and apologizes for not being able to show me anything for another two hours. I thank the universe for the extra time to decompress. I think about sorting dirty laundry in the closet, gathering up four baskets to wash. I know there's a load in the washer and the dryer. I thought, I can't do this alone! But, I still manage to anyway. I talk myself out of that thought by understanding that I still don't even see a man helping me because I've never seen a good example of it. I've never lived it, either. It's hard to fathom something that has never existed for me.
It's all just pointless and I have to deal with it. I listen to music loud and get ready to forget all of this pain so I can do my job. The sooner my day is over, the sooner I can go pick up my car, hopefully fixed. The sooner I can get my kids. And start disappointing them all over again.
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