Saturday, August 20, 2016

If Anyone Recommends Reading Pema Chodron, I Will Cut A Bitch

When your feelings match up with your expectations of your feelings, or others expectations of your feelings, life is much easier.

The amount of stress I feel daily, moment to moment, is overwhelming, and I cannot seem to get it under control.

Ever is overwhelming. I love her beyond what I can express. She is interesting, hilarious, one of the smartest little people I've ever met, quirky, kind. She smells delicious. I cuddle her constantly. We laugh together every day. I tell her I love her over and over. I play games with her, take her to the park, draw with her, play out back. She is lovable and one of the cutest kids I've ever seen, and relentless. Of all our children, the most relentless.

The facts are that Ed is bipolar depressed right now and doing 100% everything, every single thing he can do to get better, and I have enormous respect and love and devotion to him for that. But he can't really help right now. And Lola, Lola is in freshman year. And my mom works sometimes six days a week and is tired. And that's it folks. That leaves me and one five year old that never, ever EVER STOPS TALKING AND NEEDING INTERACTION and a puppy that I didn't ask for that poops and begs and cries and a shitload of work I adore and want to do and a messy house and a messy kitchen and endless papers to sign and meetings for school to attend and older boys that I miss so very much and who always call during the three hours that I am working and of COURSE i take their call because DUH but yes, so many THINGS THAT MUST BE DONE.

Right now this is  my schedule

7am wake
7:45 walk Ever to school
8:20 arrive home, clean up stupid dog poop from puppy that I love but never meant to be responsible for-this was Dakota's dog. Begin working.
11:45 Leave to get Ever
12:30 After feeding Ever lunch and putting her in front of a movie, work.
2: Leave to get Lola, Ever in tow. Sit in a ridiculous, never-ending row of traffic that barely moves, in 100 degree heat, with a air conditioner that barely works, and a rowdy five year old, and often the puppy, who guilts me tremendously every.single.time. I leave the house if I don't bring her. She has a language she speaks when she can see I'm leaving. It's half dog half human and horrible. She begs and whines and jumps and talks in her language. Guilt, guilt.
3:15 arrive home after dropping off the carpool. Hang out with kids, feel incredibly stressed out realizing how much work I have to do still.
4:00 Ed arrives home, takes over sometime later after he's had much needed time to relax, just a half hour or so. The man wakes at 4:30 every morning and has been working 50 hour work weeks.
6:00 Dinner as a family
I try to work after this. Every single time I work I am interrupted an average of ten billion times. There is nothing inherently awful about this schedule expect I have six to eight hours of work a day to do and about four hours that I can actually do so. Ever told me 'all you like to do is sleep and work' on the phone and I burst into sobbing tears and hung up.

My nerves are so frayed that my arms actually hum, the hairs quiver.

I hate everything.

I am pleasing no one, doing nothing well.

I stay up late to finish work and then cannot function the next day.

I don't stay up late, my work gets behind, and my stress gets off the charts.

Even writing this, which normally relaxes me, is making me furious.

I have no breaks.

I love my children AND Lola is fourteen and in high school and actually walks into walls she is so absent minded so you can imagine how well she does the things I ask her to. I typically have to remind her of things four times. If I give her a consequence I feel badly because she's a great kid. Besides consequences seem silly for things like bring in the underwear from the dryer, I asked you four times, except for that the second time I have to ask her, I feel like I'm going to start screaming and never stop.

I hate everyone's underwear. I never want to see another fucking sock as long as I live. We can all eat crusty GMO pizza and dead animal patties for the rest of our lives for dinner every night for all I care. I'd rather eat a lizard tail than yell up those goddamn stairs one more time for Lola to get off her phone. If the puppy barks hysterically out back at 10pm when I take her outside to pee I will leave her out there for the coyotes. She barks, wakes my husband, who then can't go back to sleep AND then the neighbors can complain. Everyone wants something. If I ever have to stand in a school and talk about the merits of walking x way to school vs. x way I will chop my hair off and hold it in the air with a war cry. If I ever have to have aggressively cheerful conversations outside school gates again it will be too soon. I hate everyone's cups. We don't have cups! they cry. THAT IS BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL IN YOUR ROOM GROWING MOLD OR IN THE BACKYARD WHERE EVER HAS USED THEM FOR HER RECIPES. I hate toilet paper. Everyone can wipe themselves with their bare, puritan hands and then wash them in microbial, gut imbalancing, brain killing soap. If I ever see another school paper I have to sign again it will be tomorrow. I hate everyone's hair. I'm shaving the girls heads. They can have dreads, or a shaved head, that's it.

Ever asks for a snack an average of four times per hour.

Ever is not happy to be listened to. She must be ENGAGED. If you happen to say 'hmmm' in response to something she's said, she actually says, 'Mom, could you please use words when you answer me? When you say hmmm, I feel like you aren't listening.' SHE IS FIVE YEARS OLD. She talks approximately 98% of her waking hours.

When I go to the bathroom I am followed, every time, by Robert B. Parker, the cat, Katie, the puppy, and usually Ever. Ever is five. I thought she would be over this. But no. She stands there and wants to know what I'm doing.

What am I doing?

I am running. I am breathing. I am taking gratitude lists. I THINK gratitude, but I cannot FEEL it right now. I see it all around me. I see my children, my husband, I'm not stupid! I know how lucky I am!

Interrupt, interrupt, interrupt. My entire life is one long interrupted stutter. When my kids were very small I expected this, I relished it. I did not think I would be here with a five year old and fourteen year old. This schedule is killing me. I never want to touch another human being as long as I live. I can't work, I can't relax, I'm not working well or mothering well and I'm supposed to do this for another six weeks until Ever's kindergarten gets out at 2 and I can actually get some work done in one long stretch and not have to work off and on all day feeling guilty and being guilted and hating everything.

everything will be fine when the schedule changes. 
everything will be fine when the schedule changes.
everything will be fine when the schedule changes.

previous next