Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Take my hand, we're halfway there
I know, I know, the monkeys in my house are all half-grown, and they shouldn't need my attention every second. And they actually don't. But the minute I start doing something, one of them does, and in case you were unaware, they make a lot of noise. Like, a lot. And I can't stand cleaning with people around. Even young people who could be put to work to make the process go faster.
So now that we're halfway there (there being the start of school, or as I like to think of it, the best day ever) I'm taking stock of our summer thus far. And, really, I'm coming up short.
I haven't really done much with the kids. Sure, we've skated outside and gone swimming and geocaching some. But the weather has kept us indoors for most of the summer. That is, I tell them it's going to rain every day and therefore our tentative plans must be canceled. I'm batting about .500 as far as that goes, so they haven't really caught on to my nefarious scheme yet. Mostly I'm just an indoor person who doesn't people very well.
My life would be a lot more convenient if I was one of those people who found genuine enjoyment in children. In fact, considering, it would be fan-fucking-tastic. Since that isn't the case, all I can do is congratulate myself on having survived half of the summer. The second half should be much easier to get through, knowing the end is in sight.
I was thinking about this the other day, and I really feel like I got shafted in the divorce lottery. The only good thing about being divorced (well, other than not being married to a giant douchecanoe anymore) should be the regular break you get from your kids.
However, because I'm divorced from someone who's an even bigger parenting fail than I am (yes, it is actually possible), I don't get to send my kids off every other weekend and for three hours on Wednesdays. Which means they're with me 100% of the time.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm only halfway decent at being a stay at home mother when the children don't also stay at home.
Just knowing I'm not enjoying every precious squabble, every mess left for me to clean up, every blatant disregard for simple rules sort of makes me feel guilty. I've a friend who'd love to have children, but for various reasons does not. Bitching to her about kids makes me feel, well, like a horrid bitch who can't find it in her to enjoy what others would kill for.
But if I can't be real here, where can I?
I'm not a people person. And kids? They're just newer people.