Motherhussy

Don't Jump

So once again I have been teetering on the edge and somehow stepped away, stopping myself from plummeting to the jagged rocks and frigid waters below. I’m speaking in metaphors, of course. If I were going to end my life I would do it in a much more spectacular and public way--that's a whole other blog.

It’s Saturday, and I should love Saturdays but lately they’ve been a struggle. With tax season in more than full swing, (more like hyper-drive) I’m back to days with the boys that seem will never end. The poor weather doesn’t help with this at all. So lately it’s been the three of us, two of whom seem to be on never-ending espresso highs (Cody and Colton), and one that should have an IV of Red Bull in her veins to keep up (me). We’re in our little house, and I’m running out of things for them to do. They’ve already mopped and waxed the floors, scrubbed the bathroom tiles with toothbrushes, and rubbed the corns off of my feet. What else is there for eight-year-olds to do on the weekend?

Currently, they’re playing video games. I usually reserve this activity to times when all their homework is done and their rooms are clean, but today I’m just burnt. I tried to send them outside to play ball, but it’s too windy and cold, and complicated. They came back in, Cody angry at Colton for throwing the ball too high, and Colton upset that Cody was being so neurotic. There is a “special” decibel range that Cody and Colton scream in that basically brings out the Joan Crawford in me, and they were using it as they came in, that’s when I snapped.

I won’t recant the dialogue that ensued, as I would hate to have someone from DCFS accidentally find my blog. I would also hate for anyone to think that I, a mature adult individual, would lower myself to the point of fighting with my children. I will however, tell you that basically I was brought to tears by a couple of 8-year-old boys, and in return they were sent to their rooms. In the past, it was I who was the one that made men and boys cry. Now karma has caught up with me in a most painfully ironic way.

This is the part where Anthony comes in. I don’t know why I call him when these things happen, it’s not like he can do anything about it while he’s at the office. If anything it’s distracting and annoying to him. But he doesn’t treat me as though I’m distracting and annoying. He just listens and tells me he’s sorry. He tells me I’m a good mother, even though everything in my head is telling me I’m not. I don’t know if it’s what he says to me, but the way that he says it. It’s soothing, like one of those white noise machines you can buy at Sharper Image. After our conversation consisting of me babbling through tears, and Anthony sitting on the other end making white noise, I imagine he hangs up the phone thinking, “She’s flipping crazy. It must be that time of the month.” I doubt he understands, hell—I don’t even understand myself when I lose control. I’m just glad he’s there to pick up the phone and lead me away from the crumbling edge of my emotions, back to the stable ground of sanity.

posted by Anonymous @ 2:29 PM