It’s been a week I’d like to forget.
Nothing particularly horrible happened and in the grand scheme of things I have nothing to complain about, but….. this week? This week has been long and unpleasant. Unpleasant in a way I cannot really explain, but still unpleasant all the same. All I know it that I’m in pity party mode. I fully admit that pity party mode isn’t the least bit attractive, but sometimes you can’t prevent it. Or perhaps, I’m just unwilling to prevent it.
An occasional pity party is as natural as breathing.
At least in my house, it is.
For a while I was thinking I’m having some sort of mid-life crisis, but I actually think it has more to do with the fact that Caroline and friends have gotten bored and antsy and hard to please. It happens every summer. By August the novelty of freedom and unlimited swimming has worn off. They’re bored with the pool and with each other. They cannot agree on activities; no one wants to do the same thing; one wants to play outside, the other two don’t and vice versa. I realize I only have ONE child and shouldn’t let the other kids get to me, but they’re IN MY HOUSE. And if they aren’t in my house, they call from another house and ask me what they should do.
I’ve realized that in my attempt to make everyone happy, I’ve made myself miserable. Why I feel the need to make sure each one of Caroline’s friends is happy is beyond me? I’m not a middle child. I’m not a peace maker. Yet, in this case, I am the peace maker. I’m also the chauffeur to the bowling alley and to the pool. The snack provider and the referee. I’m the idea maker and the mess cleaner upper.
And I’m tired. And cranky.
And full of self-pity.
September 6th cannot come soon enough.
Sorry to be whiner. I hope I can come up with something more interesting, and less whiny, to blog about this week.