(That title is supposed to look all secretive like that book The Secret. But I’m not a web genius so that’s what you get!)
I made a list today. It started out being a list of things we need, but as usual can’t afford, for the house. Like a drill. And a sander. And a sprayer. And screens. New gutters. Stumps from my trees that got removed yesterday removed. A hose. Mosquito spray. Landscaping. The patio pad that I was going to get when Uncle Sam came (before I realized he was 80% less generous this year than last).
Then I started to make a list of things I need. I felt a crack in the surface today. Which upset me, but at least it wasn’t a full-on meltdown. I can be positive about that, right?
I think I came up with a pretty good list.
Except at the end I almost wrote “Kill Myself.”
Which bothers me because I finally decided a few weeks ago that dead isn’t what I really want to be. Being dead is final. You can’t come back after the kids have grown out of what’s making you crazy. You can’t come back at night when they’re asleep to be with your hubby. You can’t go to the movies with your friends. So this post really isn’t about that.
It bothers me because after Mom got here I felt such a weight lift from my shoulders. I felt like, “finally…Someone is here to take care of ME!”
Someone I trust is here to get my kids to stop treating me like crap because I just don’t have the strength or energy to do it myself. I know any one of my friends would’ve done it, but it’s not their job. It’s my job. And if their mom can’t do it, it’s perfectly acceptable for Grandma to step in.
But the weight came back today. And it’s all I can do to not curl up in my bed for a crying fit. I can’t. Because Mom might hear. And I didn’t bring her here for that. I brought her here so I could help her get better.
I should’ve stayed in the car. It’s warmer and nobody needs me in there.
I know some of you will read this and jump to thoughts of how selfish I am for thinking this way. Please don’t. Not all of my thoughts make it out of my head and onto the page, and the details of how I got like this have long been forgotten by me but are coming to mind more and more. Which is great for me, but not for my readers. I guess you’ll have to take me as I am.