It's Monday. I'm at work. Hubby is at work. Little Man is at my parents' (like every Monday) and Sissy is at school.
It was a hell of a time getting out the door this morning. Hubby takes Little Man to my mom and dad's house, which is on the other side of town. He then has to come back past our house to go to work. Doesn't make sense, but Little Man enjoys the one-on-one time with Grandmom and Grampy. So we do it.
That leaves me with the Drama Princess. At 6 years old, she has become quite the pain in the ass. She doesn't want to get up in the mornings, then she doesn't like what we picked out for her to wear. Combing her rat's nest is torture for both of us.
The final meltdown right before we walk out the door? Footwear. The socks feel funny. I don't like the knots in the toes. My shoes are too tight/big/small/ugly. This usually turns into a full-out tantrum complete with tears, screaming, and name-calling. And she isn't all that nice, either.
Tuesdays through Fridays I can walk away and leave the drama to my hubby. After all, I work 35 minutes from home and he is the one to drop the kids off. I have to go, right? Not on Mondays.
Luckily, Sissy was somewhat ok today with only a minimal meltdown. I think she was excited because she is Student of the Week and gets to be treated like the princess she thinks she is for a whole 5 days. I counted my lucky stars and we headed to the car. I checked off my list of items that I normally forget: cell phone? Check. Quarters for tolls? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Laptop and cord? Check and check. Feeling pretty damn proud of myself, I pulled out of the driveway and headed to the highway.
That's when I heard the DING.
Almost empty gas tank....the gas tank that Hubby SAID he would fill up last night.
I have no cash with me and no debit or credit cards.
And we're already 15 minutes behind schedule.
Thus is my life. Totally unorganized, chaotic, crazy, and ill-prepared. I don't know how we make it sometimes. Sadly, this is a normal Monday. And Mondays are usually the days when the depression and anger set in. Why am forced to be a working mom? Why can't I stay home like all of the other mothers who I see casually dropping kids off at school before heading to the gym? Why couldn't I have a more flexible job? Why do I spend 8 hours a day taking care of OTHER people's children?
How did my life get so out of control? This is NOT what I envisioned.
So I fake it.
I guess I am doing a pretty good job because when I mention that my life is nuts I've had people say, "Really? You always look so calm and put-together." Ha. Ha, ha, and more ha. Thank you Mr. Paxil and Ms. Xanax.
About 7 years ago, I would've been in the fetal position 6 days a week. I would blow off work. I would cry. I would rage. I would drink. I would sleep non-stop. Obviously, I can't do that anymore. On the rare days that I have time to really think about Life, I feel that bitterness seeping back in. I allow it to consume me.
So I keep on faking it. And every morning I fear that I can't fake it anymore. Will today be the day? Will today be the day that I can't handle my life anymore?Will today be the day that I lose my mind and drive to Maine without a word to anyone? Will today be the day that I can't get out of bed?
Going through the motions is a great way to keep moving, to not let Life grab ahold and drown you. But the days that are the scariest are the days when I can let down the facade and just "be". You would think that I would revere those sacred nothing days...weekends, summers, minor holidays...but no.
As much as I resent working and dislike my job, the most dangerous days are the ones when I don't have to "fake it". As long as people are watching, I can make it. Or at least pretend to.
No comments:
Post a Comment