Friday, March 26, 2010

Just an Average Day in the Insane Asylum I Call Home

Home is supposed to be a haven from the storms of life.  According to Oprah, "Your home is supposed to rise up to meet you when you walk through the door." I've tried to make that my reality by decorating with warm, comforting, welcoming colors.  No matter how I try to paint it -my home is the storm, not the haven. 

I confess, I often find myself hiding and trying in little ways to avoid my children, mostly one of them, but sometimes both of them.  My name is called like a gazillion times in any given day.  Mostly by my 14 year old toddler.  "Mom...Mom...Mom I need you. Mom can you come here?" Is there any any wonder why I try to hide or why my evenings are filled with glasses of wine?

School days begin at 6:35 when I wake up from my fantasy life, filled with travel, friends and the occasional handsome guy that I'm making out with.  "Damn -it was just a dream. Or sometimes -thank God it was just a dream. Alan would kill me if I really did that."  Luckily the only affairs I have are in my dreams.   It's funny that they often involve travel.  I'm always in California or somewhere wonderful, and I miss my flight to come home.  Is that because I really don't want to come home?  Hmm...

I get "C" up first since he has to leave for school the earliest.  He gets up with a struggle, but not a fight.  He does what he needs to do to get ready without many, if any prompts.  Now he's 11 -granted I pick out his clothes because he'd wear things that aren't close to matching and that goes against everything within me.  I make him a warm breakfast, because he may or may not eat lunch in the disgusting cafeteria, which smells like too many things.  Then there's the problem of sitting next to peers who eat the disgusting cafeteria food with their mouths open so you can see what they're eating.   It's tragic really.  We're pretty much out the door on our way to school on time, with little incidence. 

I wake the 14 year old toddler up at 7 a.m. giving him time to lay around because it takes him a while to get moving.  I have to hear, "But I'm still tired. I don't want to go to school," at least a dozen times before he leaves.  I've stopped making him breakfast or lunch, because -one, he doesn't appreciate it -two, he lets it get cold before he comes down to eat it and -three, because it's quicker and easier for him to eat cereal after he's wasted so much time procrastinating.  He got a good hot breakfast for the first 13 years of his life and I can count the thank-you's on one hand.

There are constant prompts.  There is consistent chasing and harassing the dog in order to avoid being ready on time. There is also many request for overextended hugs from me -not to express love or affection, but to slow down the process of getting ready, to control and annoy me if only for a few moments.  Daily I say, "You'll get your hug when you're ready and on your way out the door. Leave the dog alone. Have you brushed your teeth? Did you put on deodorant? Let' go! Let's go! The bus will be here in 5 minutes.  The bus has been waiting for 5 minutes. It's inconsiderate to make other people wait for you."

Daily he says, "I don't want to go to school. I hate school! I hate Mrs. F.! I hate Mr. C. or I hate some  obscure student." 

By the time they are both out of the house, I'm ready to shout, "hallelujah" and have a Bailey's and coffee...

And that's just the first hour and a half of my day.

to be continued... 

1 comment:

  1. Oprah must still be hitting that crack pipe if she thinks one's home is "supposed" to do anything. Yes, it would be nice if everyone's home were safe, comfortable and a refuge from the stresses of the outside world. It would be nice if everyone had a home but not everyone is that fortunate.
    Sometimes Oprah's assumption that everybody lives a middle-class lifestyle where the greatest challenge is figuring out what type of facial moisturizer to buy is very tiresome.