Sunday, May 11, 2014

The Chronicles (The Series)


Follow">http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5789465/?claim=s2aw9mthqee">Follow my blog with Bloglovin

I've decided that I'm just going to pretend that Saturday didn't happen. The kids got in trouble anyways, and I cursed at them-so yeah, let's just move on. Mother of the Year yesterday.

Today I start stirring to sounds in the kitchen. From past experience and noise level, I know it's my son. After slowly coming to, I realize he is probably making me breakfast for Mother's Day. I drift in and out until I hear the knock on the door. A tray is brought to me with egg on toast, almonds, a doughnut, and orange juice. There is a card from my 11 year old son. I feel special and loved and slightly sad-I so wish I deserved this special treatment of being a great mom. I can tell my head is still not happy. These last few days have been challenging for me physically. The little drummer boy that beats on my right eardrum is back playing me a mother's day song all. day. long. My vertigo is here as well with my pain. I find myself irritated-I just want to feel well.

Shawn and the kids get ready and head to church. I of course stay home. I tell myself that the last thing I want to do on Mother's Day is hear another sermon on Proverbs 31. Actually, Sundays are just not enjoyable for me anymore, Mother's Day or not.

I sleep some more, partly from exhaustion and partly from just the blahs. Sleep takes the problems away. I wake up and think about my thoughts about brokenness. I tell myself I should clarify that I didn't mean she defines it that way, in a nice tidy little box. I want to clarify that I think she is amazing, and I love what she is doing. In my imaginary world, she is my friend, and we talk while we eat chips and salsa. She's okay with my crap. She just seems like she wouldn't run from it, but instead just eat chips and salsa with me while I wrestled with it.

I lie there wondering if I should change the title of this series, and then wonder why I care. It's just a title.

They come home and give me 2 more gifts-both chocolate. This creates a slight problem within since I know I am so large right now-chocolate isn't going to help with that situation, and swimsuit season is here. The kids are already asking to go swimming. My brain says "Ugh".

Lunch is Paradise Bakery and diet coke. Perfect lunch. We sit and watch Boy Meets World. I head to the shower when we are done, and Shawn and I talk about this great house we found just last night. It sits on a half acre in town, but our house is nowhere near ready to sell. I am frustrated and want to pout about it. I play some more new music I bought, and once again find myself not being able to get through one of the songs. Tears form so I turn it off. I just won't allow myself to go there. I tell myself that if I start crying, I will never stop. I find that I can only listen to the songs when I am doing something else. That way, I don't really hear the words.

The rest of the day I choose to all go shopping-the kids really need new clothes. They are busting out of all their old ones. My one condition is that they are patient and kind to one another-that is all I want for Mother's Day. We pile in the van, and we are off.

Things are working pretty well. Old Navy is one destination. Once there, we run into a mom and her girl that go to the church we go to-or Shawn and the kids do. I find that I still can't bring myself to call it "our church". I know that is silly and strange.

We talk as the kids are trying on clothes. She finds out I'm not going, and she wants to know why. I become guarded and just say "it's a long story. I just don't want to be there." She encourages me to go, that I need the fellowship and the support while she rests her hand on my back. The gesture is kind, but I find myself not trusting it. I find myself wanting to laugh at the thought of fellowship and support from the Church, but she is kind. I tell her again that I just can't go, that I don't want to be there, and that it is a long story.

The realization of my messy, guarded, and dysfunctional self becomes very apparent. She backs off and doesn't speak to me the rest of the time. We go our separate ways. I'm partly relieved and partly sick of myself. The mirrors all around don't help.

Target is our next stop. Tensions are running high by now thanks to our middle daughter not agreeing with our decision about "the way too tight jeans" that she wants to buy. It is the size 10 or nothing. I watch her stomp off to get the 10s, and I feel like I'm watching myself as a child. "Whatever" is all over her face. I text my mom to apologize for my younger self.

We all agree that we are done for the night, that not one more minute of shopping for clothes can be done without jeopardizing the safety of all involved.

Restaurants are crowded, and I'm so done with crowds. Dinner is Sonic and the very last episode of The Cosby Show. Showers follow while my wonderful husband goes grocery shopping. I'm so thankful he loves grocery shopping as I absolutely abhor it. I would rather scrub a dirty toilet than shop for food-although right now you would never know it to see me.

The kids are all in bed, I'm on the couch pecking away at my laptop glad another day is over, and my husband just got home. The little drummer boy is still drumming. I'm tired and ready for sleep to come. Maybe the couch will be my bed tonight. Some nights it's just so comfy.




No comments:

You might also like

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...