Several years ago, I was in the teacher's break room at the School We No Longer Discuss. Several teachers were in there, having lunch. I overheard one teacher (a lady who I really didn't like socially, or even as a human being because she was a stuck up B who still wore embroidered sweaters and not even ironically) discussing how she couldn't wait until her kids would "leave the nest."
Like...Ugh, I'm so sick of my kids, she said. I won't cry when they leave. (We're not even talking about adult children; these kids were still legally minors.)
(Warning: This post goes nowhere. Even I know this.)
I'm a bit burned out on life today. Not by my kids, but just everything. Even my therapist is annoying me right now. Might I point out how ridiculously entitled it is to say those words about therapy? Yes, I know and it kills me but we're keeping it real, folks.
Me: I don't want to spend $400 in gas a month to go across town to some activity for one hour.
Her: But you said you have the money! Isn't your well-being worth it?
For $400 and the privilege to drive our pothole-ridden streets at 40 miles per hour 40 minutes each way? NO. I'd rather be miserable. Either way, I'm NOT miserable. I'm just tired of trying.
Today is just one of those days where I'm awake and still asleep. Any sibling squabbles about whose day it is to (fill in the blank) first is lost on me. Dad made up those rules and I can barely keep them straight when my brain is firing on all cylinders (or whatever car analogy fits in here).
My brain isn't a Corvette today. It's a 1973 Ford Pinto with a missing tire and a smell radiating from the backseat.
I'm not one of those Moms who always wishes the grass was greener. I like my life. I love my family. I am at a point now where I seriously enjoy cooking meals and planning things and being involved in their lives. I can plan a teacher luncheon, send sympathy flowers and schedule physicals with the tenacity of The Terminator. I like it that I'm about to use my writing skills to help different philanthropic organizations in town. I like it that we've stayed in one place long enough to plant trees, watch them grow and actually look good.
People tend to misunderstand frustrations as unhappiness. That really annoys the hell out of me. Sometimes I need to remember the saying, "Never complain, never explain" and follow it. I have the "never explain" down pat. I take my licks, thank you very much. I don't try to talk my way out of them.
But...never complain? I need to work on that. Sure, the toast is burned, but we can scrape off (just enough of) the carcinogens to make it edible. If the toast isn't good? Just throw it in the back seat of the Ford Pinto; perhaps it'll help ward off the smell.
Like...Ugh, I'm so sick of my kids, she said. I won't cry when they leave. (We're not even talking about adult children; these kids were still legally minors.)
(Warning: This post goes nowhere. Even I know this.)
I'm a bit burned out on life today. Not by my kids, but just everything. Even my therapist is annoying me right now. Might I point out how ridiculously entitled it is to say those words about therapy? Yes, I know and it kills me but we're keeping it real, folks.
Me: I don't want to spend $400 in gas a month to go across town to some activity for one hour.
Her: But you said you have the money! Isn't your well-being worth it?
For $400 and the privilege to drive our pothole-ridden streets at 40 miles per hour 40 minutes each way? NO. I'd rather be miserable. Either way, I'm NOT miserable. I'm just tired of trying.
Today is just one of those days where I'm awake and still asleep. Any sibling squabbles about whose day it is to (fill in the blank) first is lost on me. Dad made up those rules and I can barely keep them straight when my brain is firing on all cylinders (or whatever car analogy fits in here).
My brain isn't a Corvette today. It's a 1973 Ford Pinto with a missing tire and a smell radiating from the backseat.
I'm not one of those Moms who always wishes the grass was greener. I like my life. I love my family. I am at a point now where I seriously enjoy cooking meals and planning things and being involved in their lives. I can plan a teacher luncheon, send sympathy flowers and schedule physicals with the tenacity of The Terminator. I like it that I'm about to use my writing skills to help different philanthropic organizations in town. I like it that we've stayed in one place long enough to plant trees, watch them grow and actually look good.
People tend to misunderstand frustrations as unhappiness. That really annoys the hell out of me. Sometimes I need to remember the saying, "Never complain, never explain" and follow it. I have the "never explain" down pat. I take my licks, thank you very much. I don't try to talk my way out of them.
But...never complain? I need to work on that. Sure, the toast is burned, but we can scrape off (just enough of) the carcinogens to make it edible. If the toast isn't good? Just throw it in the back seat of the Ford Pinto; perhaps it'll help ward off the smell.
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