It isn’t that I hate social events. I don’t enjoy being the mean, rigid mom. I’m not always a bitch.
But tonight, I felt like all of those. Friday — night out with College Roommates. Fine. Effort worth the gain? No. Next time, I’ll have them over here. Less stress, believe it or not.
Last night — Ellen’s Opening just 10 minutes away. Going is one thing, but preparing to go, making sure the kids are fed and the dog is walked and your undies aren’t hanging out of your pant legs? That is effort.
I don’t wear pants anymore though, to be honest. Putting on pants is really hard when your balance sucks. When I have somewhere to go — anywhere, just getting ready takes the bulk of my energy.
But I go, and most of the time I’m glad I went.
Today was my niece’s birthday. I got to see her Dad’s girlfriends adorable house, admire the garden (which is spectacular) and they made gluten free pizza. But my belly hurt, I was exhausted and Fiesty boy had one of those melt-downs that I can’t even begin to write about yet. Still processing.
It was too long. 2 pm arrival time. Left after 6. I can’t spend all my energy like that.
My in-laws are getting used to how little energy I have to spare. I think they are past the “why is she so lazy” phase, so that helps. “Why is she such a Super Freak Mom” might be the current phase and worthy of its own post.
I’m tired of this life of mine. Tired of the melt-downs, tired of the swollen lymph nodes. Tired of noticing every little thing that might impede their treatment — the cake, the damp basement, the exhausting party.
I don’t even know who my children are. Who will they become after treatment? How much is treatment damaging them? Why does it feel like there is such a race against the clock to get them well?
Who will they be when it is over? Or more aptly phrased, who will they be when this phase of treatment is complete?
I don’t know. I just wish I had more patience. And I wish I had drawn another hand. This one feels a little too big for me today.