My son was late for school again and it was all my fault. No need to dispute that.
I even gave the universe, the school rules, and my own self-esteem, a slap in the face by parking illegally in front of the school in a vain attempt to get him into class before the anthem.
I did this in front of my son.
If there's one thing that will make a smart mom crabby, it's letting down her own child. I didn't get to be an introverted, anxious, late-blooming woman without learning that the last thing a kid needs is an undependable mother.
Hmmmm. I've never asked myself if I had one of those... I don't think so, and I DEFINITELY don't like to speak ill of her. She was utterly dependable in the ways that mattered to me. She was human and she was sensitive, though. I know, I say it like it's a bad thing.
Hmmm. This was supposed to be about me and my reasons. I shouldn't blog. I should just write, for myself, so I don't start to feel self-conscious about my rambling thoughts and excess words. So I don't hit delete, or wonder if I should save this as a draft and edit it because that's what bloggers do.
Some part of me wants to diary in public though. I guess it's the part of me that doesn't want to be alone. That wants to hear, "Me too!" I'm not the only shitty mom (delete), not-good-enough mom (delete?), guilty mom.
Am I the only SAHM paranoid (or just worried) that my husband will leave me and successfully sue for custody of our son just by pointing to my weaknesses.
I told him to see a psychologist because he was grumpy and stressed. He finally took my advice. Then he told me that the psychologist asked him why his wife is tired all the time and wouldn't he like it if I put our son to bed some nights? Fuck. You told another human being that you put our son to bed most nights lately? Did you tell her about the year that I put him to bed more than once a day by nursing him, alone, in a dark room?
I digress again.
Bottom line, I feel like crap, and no I don't think that I should put this out there for the universe actually...
Oh yeah, today I spent an hour that I really didn't have responding to a friend's email that she's in town for the night and would like to get together, and how to fit this into my evening's schedule which has been: pick up my child from school; cook and feed him supper and help him with his homework; emotionally and actually prepare for a meeting at his school; transfer him to my husband before or during the meeting (childcare is provided) who will take him to an arena and get him ready to play hockey; rush from the meeting to the game; sit and watch my beloved boy block shots and try to block other shots; go home, get him and myself ready for bed, and fall into bed.
Did I mention that I'm depressed and anxious and the last thing I want to add to this picture is responsibility to host another adult? That I'm teetering on the edge of hoarding and dread the thought of a visitor, let alone an accomplished, child-free, visitor, who met me in middle school?
I get over the guilt and suggest that she take a cab to the arena. She agrees. I feel relieved.
Complicating factor: my friend and her boss want to meet with my husband late this afternoon (they're in the same field). So if she meets with him at the end of the day, it would be only reasonable for him to invite her to come home with him and have supper with us before I head to the meeting and they head to the arena... But I, the introverted, anxious, poor-housekeeper that I am, can think of nothing worse. Can not handle this pressure. Well, I could if I HAD to, but with a painful stomach all day and chaos all around and failing to meet all of my other obligations and intentions like, say, trying to write today... And not about this!
So I pass this stress on to my husband. Who is now going to a meeting with my friend and her boss at 3:00 p.m. and is going to try to avoid inviting her over for supper, just because his wife is such a basket case. He, the most sociable man in the universe... No wonder I get paranoid (or worried) that he'll leave me or fall out of love with me... I don't feel worthy.
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking, the day is shrinking.
Things still to do today, in no particular order:
- Meet a different friend for lunch at noon. I have to leave in 25 minutes. (Note: This will not be fun. This is another source of anxiety. On the upside, it will also be a source of food, and I am seriously in need of nutrition.)
- Buy groceries for my son's (and perhaps my husband's and friend's) supper.
- Clean the kitchen -- fortunately I did this last night so it's not too bad.
- Print and read the school constitution and other documents in preparation for tonight's meeting.
- Wash my son's hockey long underwear, in time for it to dry this afternoon.
- Pick up my son at 3:30 p.m.
- Gather and return the overdue library books.
- Pay the overdue bills.
- Write to my cousin who has cancer. (I'm not piling this on to be maudlin. My dear cousin has cancer and lives on the other side of the world, and I'm overdue to write to her. I want to write to her. This takes time and focus and emotional energy that is currently in short supply.
- Do the homework and reading for my anxiety group therapy this Thursday.
- Help my son with his homework, make our supper, and eat together.
- Try not to feel extremely guilty about the fact that I don't want to invite my friend over for supper. What's she going to do? Eat in a restaurant by herself? Yeah, I feel extremely bad. But which stress is worse -- the stress of hosting on a stressful day, or the stress of avoiding it and making my husband and friend deal with the consequences.
- Get my son into his hockey long underwear and ready to go by 4:30.
- Go to the 5:00 meeting. (After that point it's all scheduled -- meeting; drive to arena; watch game and visit with friend; drive friend to her hotel; visit with friend; drive home; collapse; feel shitty because I (probably) still haven't written to my cousin. Try to put it off another night because I need my sleep.
- Enjoy a walk outside in the sunshine.
Well, it's 11:41. Just enough time to throw the long underwear into the washing machine, throw on some moisturizer, urinate, and race to the sushi restaurant.