As my good friend Aimee says..."Ugh. You don't even know..." That's alright, stick around and I'll tell ya, and then you'll know. Oh, caution...profanity may follow. Some days if I don't swear I think I'll blow up. This was one of them.
Well, Sunday was no better than Saturday, and in some ways it was worse, but I don't even want to talk about it. Suffice it to say that there's a reason we moved two hours away from our hometown, and I don't need to go back any time soon. I'm sure we will, but I don't need to.
Actually I DO need to, because the chicken we bought in bulk, that was the whole reason we WENT, got left behind in Mom's freezer, dammit...
The aforementioned crappy weekend apparently left me feeling drained and more pissy than when I started. I was NOT a great mom today, and a bitchy wife at best, I'd guess. Greg went to bed without saying a word to me, and I can't say that I blame him. I'd like to give myself a boot in the tambourine for my crappy-ass attitude today.
I was short with Samantha all day, and even Jackson (as much as you can be "short" with someone who can't talk to you), and I didn't get a damn thing accomplished around here. I didn't even make supper, we had Sonic (no, not McDonald's, thank you very much). I did two whole loads of laundry...sort of...they are still in the washer and dryer, so that's not really "done", is it? I didn't feel like playing, or doing match flashcards, or playing peeks, coloring, or watching Caillou...OK so I NEVER feel like watching Caillou, but today I wanted to throw the freaking TV out the window when I heard "I'm just a kid who's four, each day I grow some more, I like exploring, I'm Caaaaaillou..."
I hated how I felt about myself today, and I don't say that often. I was super-pissy and whiny and NOT any fun to be around. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror when Samantha was brushing teeth, and was NOT amused at the grimace I know all-too-well. I could hardly even make my eyebrows NOT be down low in a grumpy grimacing position.
I kept stopping myself and hugging the kids throughout the day, when I felt like screaming. Mostly because it wasn't their fault - Momma was just being an asshole today. When I tucked Samantha in, I tried to explain to her that even when Momma has bad days, I still love her SO much, she's still my best girl, and I still think she's smart, funny, pretty, nice, etc.... She seemed to believe me and almost seemed a little bit relieved that I said that to her. What did I read somewhere about how we talk to our kids?...the gist is that to avoid having a negative impact on their self-esteem, you must provide TWELVE positive statements for every single negative one. That's a tall order, especially when you're as crabby as I was today. I do NOT think I came out ahead, or even "even", today.
I always swore I wouldn't take my bad days out on my kids. I remember how that felt, and how unimportant and how unvalued I felt when I knew Mom was having a bad day, and I KNEW I was a pain in her ass, an irritation to her, and I don't EVER want my kids to feel that way. Don't misunderstand me, I couldn't have lived my Mom's life for five minutes, and if I'd have been married to my Dad, he'd have been a dead man years ago, so what is a "bad day" to me is NOTHING compared to the hell that Mom lived through. But I didn't know what she was living through at the time, and I still felt like I was in the way all the time. So just because my "bad day" is nothing hugely significant or deep-seeded does NOT mean my kids get that and won't feel unloved, in that moment anyway.
Shitty. I think my feng-shui is jacked up or something, seriously. I bought "Feng-Shui for Dummies"...I started reading it, but I just can't make myself read all the little particulars about the Octagon that you're supposed to put in your yard to see if your front door is in the right place, or some shit. It's sitting here, staring at me. And the laundry is behind me, bitching at me again. I wonder what Feng-shui says about laundry piles shaped like ski-slopes?
I need to go meditate or pray or have a drink or something. Maybe all three, but not necessarily in that order. Sometimes I really wish I was "a drinker". Ok, no I don't. That would be at the top of my list of things that would NOT help anything. Ask any of the countless addicts in my family and they'll tell you...
Boy, this BLOG is a downer this week, huh? Sorry about that shit. I'll try to do better soon!