I don't know at what point today it hit me, but there it was:
I am losing it.
I am about to become one of those women that cries in the grocery store. I nearly was one of those women about 6 times so far today, and we aren't even to dinner yet.
I took the day off from work so that I could go to the dentist and volunteer at the Boy's school. After being up for 3 hours in the middle of the night--time spent primarily crying over stupid depressing poetry (ok, it was good, but still stupid and depressing. What the hell? Can we write something happy, people??)--I barely dragged myself out of bed and managed to pull on a sweatshirt and tights and get the kids to school. The School Lady practically had to drag the Boy out of the car, as we chose the dropoff moment to have a complete breakdown because I wouldn't let him take in his "treasures" (3 bobbypins, a paperclip, a nickel, and 2 buttons).
Dropping off the Girl at daycare, I ran into the father of one of the Boy's friends, and ended up getting into a long, slightly hysterical rant against the Evil that is Red Dye 40. It was one of those moments when there's a tiny part of your brain that realizes this person probably thinks you're one movie short of an Oliver Stone, but you just can't stop.
Late to the dentist appointment. Ate crap for lunch. Went to pick up kids and ran straight into the Boy having a total and complete meltdown because a kid at school was having a birthday and passing out Prohibited Cupcakes. Realized I'd sent in special treats for the Boy at kindergarten but not afterschool program. Felt like crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
All is calm--for the moment--we made our own "school snack" when we got home and talked about a solution--I'll track the snacks they're planning at school and send in substitutes. But I sooo need to get a grip. I worry that I am not doing the right thing to help my son. I think this has just been a long freaking week, and I need to take a big breath, say a little prayer... and at about 8:15 tonight, drink a big vodka.
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2 comments:
I feel your pain. Your writing is just perfect for how I feel most of the time. Lots of crap going on--and what is up with the sad poetry? Anyone ever heard of being uplifting?
Thanks, and likewise!
Re the poetry: I swear. Of course, cruising for poetry at 2:00 am when I had already had El Weeko de Crappo and strongly suspected I might be getting PMS to boot probably was no so smart. Oh well. I keep thinking of a story Barbara Kingsolver told about a woman who wrote her an angry letter about something sad that had happened in one of her books; I thought I might get up in the middle of the night tonight and send hate mail to the poet. Unfortunately, it really was damned good, so I will just have to stew in it. Or make up a different, happier ending for it, like I used to do with books and movies when I was a kid.
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