It’s been a slow week around here. Slow and long. And it’s only Wednesday.
It’s spring break. For Caroline and pals, it’s the best week ever. For Caroline and pal’s parents, it’s most definitely NOT the best week ever. My house is a wreck. There is a huge tent in my living room which has been built using every single sheet, blanket, towel and chair I own. The girls have requested the tent remain up for the entirety of spring break. I’ve given them until Friday. After that, all bets are off.
I even had to barter so that a pathway could be carved out to make getting to the front door easier. What if there is a fire, I asked? Or better yet, what if the ice cream man comes along and we can’t get out the door fast enough to get our popsicles because the tent is in the way?
The ice cream man line worked and I now have a visible and walkable path way to my front door. It’s the little victories that mean the most. However, the ice cream man hasn’t made his way to our neighborhood. If he doesn’t make an appearance by Thursday, I have a feeling I’ll lose my walkway.
So, my house is a mess and we haven’t done much of anything. I’ve fed Caroline’s pals more meals than I can count and hosted a sleep over last night. We did take a walk to 7-11 for Slurpees yesterday. Which, quite honestly, was the highlight of my afternoon. Behold the healing powers of fresh air and frozen, sugary red dye #40.
I’m finding myself feeling a bit down in the dumps today. Mostly because my schedule is out of whack, my house is in chaos and my gym time has been seriously infringed upon. How selfish does that make me sound? Wait…don’t answer that. I’m usually at my worst, mentally, when I haven’t been able to exercise as much as I’d like. Also? I’m wearing a wife beater tank top today. Clearly, this has nothing to do with anything, but I thought I’d share, anyway.
Just a few minutes ago I caught myself thinking out loud, ‘I just want to be anywhere but here right now.’ Have you ever felt that way? Obviously, spending spring break not picking up stray popcorn kernels off the floor left by careless snackers, not making quesadillas and spaghetti tacos (!) for a mass of hungry girls and not being trapped by an unsightly, behemoth tent structure in my living room seems quite peachy. Oh, how I long to sip something fruity by the edge of the pool and read a book without interruption. To get in a full workout and not have to hear the front door slam fifty seven times a day.
I can wish that I was about to sail away somewhere exotic, leaving my messy house and my lunch lady duties behind, but wishing will get me nowhere.
This is my life. As messy and uncharming as it is.
On most days, I’m okay with that. Because there really isn’t anything more important than being around for your kid.
This is know.
But it’s also hard to not want more. To not want what I *think* will finally make me happy. To not want what will please my self serving desires.
Writing this out only further proves how selfish I am. I thought mothers were supposed to be martyrs. Selflessly sacrificing for the good of the children. Denying myself and my wants and wishes so that my child can have more.
And me? Well, I’m no martyr; that’s for darn sure.
I’m just a whiner.
A whiner who really wants a vacation.