I am in a waiting room at the car place while my vehicle undergoes repairs for yet another recall. In fact, this is a re-recall because I already had this particular issue addressed a couple of years ago. Or, not addressed, apparently.
There is one other woman-presenting person in the waiting room with me. She just consented to a $160 tire alignment. I am 95% sure that the service member who came to speak with her referred to her as Suzanne, and the service person who checked me in already told me my car’s alignment failed. What are the chances that two Suzannes would both have failed tire alignments at the exact same time?!
It’s been kind of a rough start to the school year. Or maybe not rough so much as nonstop busy? None of it is BAD stuff; it’s all stuff that we’ve done or chosen on purpose. Well, except for the leak in our pool. No one wants that. I think it’s like this every year, and I simply block out the memory of the frenetic bustle of it all during the relative calm of the summer months. Annual or not, I currently feel like I’ve jumped into the middle of an ice-cold lake and I’m not that strong a swimmer.
What I really want to be doing is spending my days walking, writing, and hanging out with my cat. That sounds like my ideal level of interpersonal interaction right about now.
Ignore the doorbell and the dishes and the laundry and the fact that you need to pick up your kid and the neighbor’s children from school and lie down with meeeeeeeeeee…
In practice, I’ve been spending an average of two hours a day in a school gymnasium, making conversation with other parents, cheering for our kids, and trying to stave off butt and back pain from the relentless discomfort of the bleachers. (This little purchase has helped quite a bit with the latter.) Or rushing to/waiting around my house to discuss various home maintenance and repair and improvement projects with a parade of vendors. Or scrolling aimlessly on my phone in an attempt to stay awake while my daughter finishes her homework (she hasn’t gone to bed before eleven a single time this school year). Or driving to or from school and/or sporting events. Or working on a volunteer project, which involves both in-person meetings and a group chat. I remain terrified of group chats.
This is all, like, totally normal parent and life stuff and yet I am feeling overwhelmed and overextended and wholly unsuited to any of it.
Let’s just hope this is all an ADJUSTMENT period, to which I will ADJUST. My kiddo, by the way – who is the one DOING THE SPORTS AND HOMEWORK which is quite a bit more strenuous than observing those things – seems to be handling everything with much more grace and much less whining than I am.
On the plus side, I have not cooked a single meal all week. On the minus side, I did buy ingredients to make a giant salad several days ago and I am pretty sure they are all gradually rotting into inedibility in my fridge.
There are five of us in the waiting room now. One of the staff members has chosen this very moment to vacuum the floor of the waiting room. Why now, buddy? It’s not like someone just spilled a bag of chip crumbs or anything. The floor looks perfectly clean. Is this a conscientious objection to the inanity of Jenna & Sheinelle, which I didn’t know was a show? Is it passive aggressive proof to his manager that he is Doing His Job? Puzzling.
Those of you with better memories and/or experience with middle school and high school kids, is this just… How Things Are? Carla goes to school, goes to sports, scarfs a quick and less-nutritionally-balanced-than-I’d-prefer dinner, immerses herself in homework, goes to bed, repeat. There is literally no time to do anything else. She doesn’t have a spare ten minutes to tidy her room or practice her instrument or go visit the neighbor dogs. The only time we talk is in the car or over a hasty meal of fast-food nuggets. We’ve been sacrificing a traditional breakfast in favor of a few more minutes of sleep, and she’s been eating ants on a log or drinking a smoothie in the car on the way to school. Our only “non productive” time is the five minutes of cat videos we watch together every morning, and the ten minutes I spend reading to her in bed every night.
(By the way, I am currently reading her this book, which I remember liking when I was a kid, although not enough to read any of the other books in the series. But I am finding it boring and kind of dumb???)
My husband thinks that it was like this for him when he was in school. My mom thinks it was like this for me when I was in school. But I have no recollection of doing three to five hours of schoolwork every night. Maybe in college, but even then, only when I had a paper due the next day. Three to five hours of schoolwork seems BONKERS, let alone doing it on top of two to three hours of Sports.
I keep spiraling about Carla’s commitments. The spiral starts with: This is too much! This school isn’t right for Carla! Something must be wrong, either with the teachers or with Carla’s ability to do the work! Should I email the teachers? The principal? Should I encourage Carla to email the teachers? The principal? Should I make her quit Sports?
Then eventually (sometimes with help from my much chiller husband) the spiral makes its way around to this: But Carla seems to be doing okay. She’s tired, sure, but isn’t that true of ALL teenagers, EVERYWHERE? The other parents I’ve talked to say their kids are doing similar amounts of homework, and going to bed similarly late. And none of them are pulling their kids out of school or making them quit the team or marching into the principal’s office demanding Action. And Carla really seems to enjoy Sports! She’s getting better, she seems to be making a positive contribution to the team. The physical activity is certainly good for her. As is the social interaction. She seems to be completing her homework, even if it’s late when she finishes it. Her grades are fine, so far. And her own father says that this is How It Was even back in the golden era of the nineteen-nineties.
The calm doesn’t last particularly long, though. It doesn’t help that I am also getting less sleep than I prefer, and I’m much busier than I prefer. Maybe once those things resolve (will they resolve?) I will be more zen about Carla’s level of busyness.
Speaking of being more zen: The last time I posted here, which was eons and eons ago, I mentioned my fret about feeding the sports team. THANK YOU for pointing out that doing such a thing is inadvisable. I spent the first three weeks of school not signing up, and simply taking Carla some nourishment to eat between games. She eats WRAPS now, can you believe it? Ham, tomato, and lettuce. (I wrap the tomato and lettuce in the ham, so they don’t soggify the tortilla.) (Yes, we have decided to throw caution to the wind and get back on the lettuce train.) Other parents have been signing up to provide sustenance, and I have been observing what they bring. They are not bringing dinner, they are bringing SNACKS. I can totally bring snacks for the team. That’s much less daunting than providing an entire meal. Thanks for talking me down, internet.
And there’s the service guy who checked me in. My car is done, and so is this post.
June was a whirlwind, wasn’t it? I am still trying to wrap my mind around how it can possibly be July already. The past few days alone included: picking up my child from sleepaway camp, observing a belated Father’s Day with my husband, buying a new car, getting a new air conditioner installed, and celebrating my daughter’s birthday. For those of you who have been around since I was on the fence about having kids: THE KID IS NOW THIRTEEN.
I could only find the “birthday” portion of the “happy birthday” banner, which I think it more of an indication of my current level of discombobulation than lack of delight at my kiddo becoming a teenager.
I have been doing SO MUCH laundry, and there is stuff (camp stuff, gift detritus, air conditioner replacement debris) everywhere, and I cannot stay on top of the mess.
This looks much neater and tidier than it FEELS. It FEELS like being slowly suffocated on all sides by Stuff.
(Alert, alert: Lisa and Nicole, you may want to skip the next two paragraphs and the photo between them.)
The air conditioner replacement was a fun surprise. I scheduled a simple clean-and-check with my HVAC company, and the technician discovered that all the wiring had been devastated by mice. In fact, the only thing that was preventing the wires from being exposed completely was a giant mouse nest. I think you know how I feel about this, which is burn it all down.
How can something so small and kind of cute be so destructive?!?!
We’d already spent a pretty penny to deal with previous mouse-related air conditioning carnage, back in April of 2024, and it was one of those deals where we could shell out a bunch of money to repair the old unit, which could of course die at any moment and has already proved much too welcoming to rodents… or shell out more money for a new, slightly-more-mouse-resistant unit. Considering this week is in the 90s (30s C), we went with the latter option.
The air conditioner is not doing a whole lot for the top floor yet. Carla slept with her camp fan clipped to her bedframe last night. It really does a great job of cooling. (We got it for camp because it is one of the few options that requires only batteries, and not some sort of USB charger to keep it powered on.) Several of the stores we’ve been to recently have been selling fans, which makes me feel like I need more fans. But Carla and I plan to spend as much time in or near the pool as possible, as a heat-beating measure. She has a new turtle pool float and I have pool hammocks to lounge in and copious amounts of sunscreen.
Interrupting my husband’s day seeing patients with really crucial discussions.
Carla and I spent the afternoon of her birthday shopping, which was delightful and exhausting. She wanted to go into every tchotchke / novelty items boutique within a ten mile radius. Our adventure included Five Below, Home Goods, Michaels, Hobby Lobby, Target, and the Dollar Store. We also went to Pet Smart, to look at the kitties.
During our expedition, we passed a new international foods store and had to check it out. They had a variety of snacks and treats from different countries. I snagged a bag of coriander flavored Doritos which are my new favorite thing. They taste just like cilantro and are SO GOOD.
Yummmmmm.
Carla was more interested to learn that this store sold squishies and fidgets that are currently all the rage. She persuaded her father to buy her a NeeDoh Fuzz Ball, but then when we got home, she noticed that it doesn’t have the NeeDoh logo on it. We got squishy scammed, y’all. My thought is that this store had no idea they were selling counterfeit NeeDohs, and so I am hoping we can go back and inform them about the problem, maybe get our money back, and definitely get some more coriander chips.
If you live in the U.S., are you celebrating Independence Day? I dislike this holiday because of the fireworks. They are loud and dangerous and it seems like a lot of people take the expansive view that the entire month of July is for setting off firecrackers in their yards at all hours of the day and night. I get very Grumpy Old Lady about the whole thing, and my husband and I typically prefer to spend the holiday holed up in our basement, grumbling about our neighbors (him) and fretting that a rogue firework will set our home ablaze (me). (Last year, we woke up on July 5 to find our driveway littered with spent firework shells.)
My in laws sent my whole family holiday apparel. This was a very kind gesture, and 250 years is a momentous anniversary. For all its flaws, I love my country. We have freedoms and opportunities here that I try not to take for granted. It is exciting and remarkable that we have reached this semiquincentennial milestone. And… I kind of feel that expressing any kind of patriotism gives an inaccurate impression of my beliefs and politics. I’ve driven past a lot of houses over the past month or so that have cheerful American flag bunting on their fences, or little American flags planted in their yards, or patriotic signs trumpeting their enthusiasm for the anniversary, and part of me feels a little lift of festive joy… and another part of me feels like I have an immediate – and quite possibly biased and wrong! – insight into what kind of people they might be and what kind of beliefs they may hold. UGH. By the way: I am not saying that people more conservative than I am are “bad;” I know many people across the political spectrum who are good, kind, loving people… who simply have different views on some topics than I do. I don’t know. It’s kind of unfair, is what I’m saying, that a symbol of unity should instead carry with it the weight of judgment. As usual, I am not the first or the most articulate person to note this; but it’s particularly noteworthy to me as we inch closer to the Fourth of July.
Let’s turn to a less controversial topic, which is my cat. Poor Lenny was shut away in my room for SIX HOURS while the new air conditioner was being installed, because the HVAC people kept going in and out of the house. He bore the injustice of his imprisonment with dignity. But he did develop a winky eye, which of course made me worry that he had something seriously wrong with him. Carla and I took multiple videos and photos of him, and examined his winky eye in various lights from various angles. I envisioned eye drop prescriptions and Rachel Green-style interactions and surgical intervention and loss of the eye. I called the vet and asked their opinion; their opinion is always “bring him in.” I scheduled the first available appointment, forgetting that there were five (5) strangers meandering in and out of my house for the foreseeable future. I called the vet back and got a later appointment. I fretted as the appointment approached because the HVAC people were STILL THERE. Finally, with about forty minutes to spare, the HVAC people left. I released the cat from my room so he could use the litter box. When he reappeared, his winky eye had resolved completely.
I had texted my husband earlier in the day to alert him to the cat’s almost certain blindness. His response was “Maybe an eggshell.” This requires some backstory, which is that my husband’s colleague sent him home with some fresh eggs the other day, from her chickens. She’d packaged the eggs in a little clear egg carton and had included some instructions with them that said they should be stored on the counter. Well. Lenny was obsessed with the eggs. He must have been able to smell chicken on them? He didn’t bother them until there were only two left. At which point, I came home from Carla’s birthday shopping extravaganza to find the carton overturned on the floor, one egg completely unharmed, and the other broken. I cleaned everything up, returned the surviving egg to the carton, and put a package of insect repellent refills on top of it to make it more difficult to bat off the counter. Not difficult enough, it turns out. The next morning, we came into the kitchen to find the eggshell I’d rinsed and left on the counter to dry once again on the floor, the makeshift carton weight on the counter, and the egg carton on the floor. The remaining egg was still intact. Hence my husband’s assumption that eggshell was the source of Lenny’s winky eye.
Screenshot
I made crème brûlée for Carla’s birthday dessert, per her request. The recipe called for five egg yolks, and I saved the shells because I read that they can deter slugs. Which I think are destroying both my coleus plants and one of my hydrangea trees. I love how pretty the eggshells are, or were before I baked them and crushed them. I hope they help my coleus plants! This is the third year I’ve planted coleus in the same location, and the first time that I’ve had an issue.
What’s up with you this Wednesday? How hot is it where you are? What are you making to eat when you don’t want to turn on the oven?
It seems like I have a bunch of things to write about – I have a whole list of post titles in the document above this one – but my brain is insisting on instead perseverating on some grumbles and frets. Sometimes it helps to write those out; clears some space in the garage of the mind.
Speaking of the garage, this is what my garage door currently looks like. We don’t know what happened to the garage door. What we do know is that my husband came home from work yesterday, tried to open his garage door, and it wouldn’t open. After some examination, we discovered that a pin had been pushed through a bracket (these are totally the right words) when it wasn’t supposed to be, preventing the garage door from opening properly. We pulled the pin, the garage door resumed normal function.
The only thing that happened between when my husband left for work – via a working garage door – and returned, is that Carla and a neighborhood friend did some rollerblading in the garage. Carla insists she did not touch the garage door, or anything on it. Okay, fine.
But then when I left the house, my garage door also wouldn’t open. I checked, and sure enough, the pin was pushed through the bracket. When I removed the pin, the door still wouldn’t open, so I did some jiggling and finally got it to go up enough that I could back out onto the driveway. But it wouldn’t close. The motor was working – I could see the little track that maneuvers the door moving – but the door wouldn’t budge. So I pulled the thing that you pull when your electricity is out, so I could manually close the door. And it moved just fine… for a few feet. Until ANOTHER pin, this one with a wheel on it, for maneuvering the door down the outer tracks of the housing (so many terms that are so definitely accurate), popped out and bopped me on the head.
The garage door is ASKEW, as you can see. My husband and I tried to fix it, but we made it much, much worse. At least it’s CLOSED, now. Time to call the garage door guy, probably. But it is a holiday weekend here in the US so who’s to know if garage door guys are even working right now. Plus, the last time I called a garage door guy, one of them tried to tell me I needed a brand new garage door when the other guy said my door was fixable, and then fixed it, and it has remained operable for nearly two years. Is this newest issue related to the one we dealt with back in 2023? Should I have listened to the first guy all along? No one knows. No one knows, either, why the pins were pushed in the first place. Least of all Carla.
It has been Quite A Week for stuff like that. There’s the air conditioner leak, which I am monitoring per my dad’s instructions. He thinks we just need to get a new threaded fitting for the pipe. All my fingers are crossed, of course, and perhaps I am just being hyper-aware, but it feels like our air conditioner is really struggling to keep the house cool. Is this because it is a million degrees outside? Or because the air conditioner is failing? Okay, okay – let’s not fret too intensely about the air conditioner. I want to tell you about my ATM mishap.
Picture this: It is a million degrees outside, I am picking up my child from camp and then picking up her friend so we can have a sleepover. I have a ten minute window in which I can grab some food for dinner and get some cash to tip the furniture delivery people who are due at my house first thing the next morning. Carla and I swing through the grocery store in record time and there’s only one car ahead of me at the ATM. The car takes forever. I always wonder if people behind me think I am taking forever, too. Or are there some people who save up fifty-eight transactions for a single visit to the ATM. Hard to say. When I finally pull up, the machine takes my card, takes my pin, but then there is no “withdraw cash” option. Sigh.
There is a walk-up ATM on the other side of the bank, so I park and go through the whole thing again. This time, the machine takes my card, takes my pin, and there IS a “withdraw cash” option. I click it and a screen pops up that says “validating pin.” I wait. And wait. And wait. The sun helpfully spotlights me against the building. A woman pulls up and asks if this machine has cash, because the drive-up one doesn’t. I told her it ate my card. She suggests that I see if anyone inside can help, which I reluctantly do (I don’t want to leave my card in the machine), but the bank is closed.
I try to call the bank – first the branch, which is closed to callers as well as customers, and then the customer service hotline, which has eight million prompts that I dutifully type in but can’t get it to understand – and then start pounding on the doors. I can see people inside; maybe they will take pity on me? I am not a bank robber, just a damp, flustered, middle-aged woman. Bless them: someone tries to communicate with me via mouthing and sign language (very ineffective), and then eventually a man comes into the lobby and talks to me through the doors. I explain what happened, he explains he’s not allowed to open the doors to the bank after hours, and we discuss options. I am near tears at this point. The frozen screen still says “validating pin” and my main concern is that the computer will eventually start working again and then my card, with validated pin, will be available for anyone to use. I don’t know if I look plaintive enough, or harmless enough, or annoying enough, but the man finally gets a colleague to unlock the doors for him so he can come check on the situation himself.
I am apparently switching verb tenses now. The solution turned out to be: he reset the machine from inside the building. This, he told me, could result in my card being spit back out at me – so I needed to wait until it completely reset – or it could result in my card disappearing forever into the ether. So I called customer service again to see if I could get to a human. Meanwhile, Carla was sitting in the air-conditioned car, fretting about all the other people (total: 3) who were also trying to withdraw money from this bank and were stuck in the same pointless loop we were. She was particularly worried about one elderly man in a convertible who went through the drive-up ATM twice and pulled up to the walk-up ATM also twice, only to be turned away because I was still there.
HALF AN HOUR LATER – drenched in sweat, but unwilling to leave the machine in case my card popped out – the machine reset and my card was nowhere in sight. I’d finally gotten through to a real person via the customer service hotline and was asking him to send me a new card when the banker appeared out of nowhere and asked if I had my ID. I handed it over and he returned it WITH MY CARD.
I was so very grateful. I know he broke all sorts of rules by leaving the bank, even though he took precautions to make sure that even if I was going to threaten him with a weapon, I still couldn’t access the bank. Sometimes people are so bound by rules that they are unable to exercise any sort of judgment call. How fortunate that this man was able to judge that my situation required some rule bending. I did not even get his name, but he is my hero.
The Balloons. This is just pure complaining now, but something else I despise right up there with “unable to exercise judgment calls” is people who gate-keep rules/information. I went to a local business that sells balloons to get a few for Carla’s birthday. (She still adores balloons.) I took my balloons to the register, where two young people were inflating balloons and tying on ribbon. One of the people came to take my order. “When is your event?” Tomorrow morning, I told her. She looked with dismay at the balloons I’d chosen. “Those won’t last that long,” she said, pointing to the latex balloons. I’ve had twelve years of experience with balloons, and I think they’d be fine, but whatever. I told her I would exchange them for mylar balloons. “Would you like to take the balloons with you now?” Sure, that would prevent me from making a second trip, why not? “We can’t, we have a bunch of orders we’re working on right now.” Okay, that’s fine; I had been prepared to come back anyway. I asked her what time they closed that night. “Eight.” Okay, great. I will pick up the balloons at eight. “We don’t fulfill balloon orders that late. The latest we fulfill balloon orders is seven-thirty.” Oh-kay. Seven-thirty, is fine, I will pick them up at seven-thirty. “Well, probably not seven-thirty. Maybe six-thirty, or seven.” Great, I will pick them up at seven. The other person filling balloons piped up: “We have another order to fulfill at seven.” The person who I was dealing with said, “We’re fulfilling another order at seven so I can’t do seven.” Okay, fine. Six-thirty, I do not care. “Do you want your ribbon floor length?” I had no experience with this unit of measurement, or how it could possibly be a standard length, so I said something like, I want the ribbon long because we have tall ceilings. The person filling balloons said, “We do floor length or table length.” My pleasant smile was beginning to feel more like a grimace. Floor length is fine. “What color ribbon do you want?” I started to answer and then asked what colors they haveand chose the first option she gave me.
If there are very specific parameters, TELL ME THEM. Don’t make me guess.
Update on the sleep situation. One of my top health concerns over the past couple of years has been my increasingly, enduringly terrible sleep and resulting fatigue. I did two at-home sleep studies that were inconclusive. The sleep specialist recommended an in-lab sleep study, which I finally did last week (would anyone be interested in a post about what that was like?) and got my results. Basically, I have very mild obstructive sleep apnea. So mild that usually they don’t treat it (and if it’s so mild they don’t typically treat it, is the sleep apnea what’s causing my sleep problems?). (I also have restless limbs, for which I already take copious supplements and have a prescription to use on really bad nights.) My sleep specialist said that I could try a CPAP machine if I wanted, I could get a dental appliance that is not covered by insurance, or I could – wait for it – lose weight. Sigh. Okay, the last one is free and worth doing anyway, so I guess I’ll try that first.
Possibly I am so easily annoyed right now because I have some un-displaceable worry and regret that’s just… percolating. I just heard some news about a friend that was very troubling. It didn’t come from her; it came, in fact, third hand, but you’ll have to trust me that the source is inarguably trustworthy. I suppose there is still room for some blurring of details, so I’m keeping that in mind. Anyway: I learned that she was going through something horrific some years ago and I had no idea. If I had known, I would have tried to help her. But I didn’t know, and she went through this horrific experience and she went through it alone. Because the revelation about her circumstances didn’t come from her, and because we are the type of friends who now keep in touch via text two or three times a year, and who see each other every decade or so if we happen to be in the same state at the same time, I don’t feel comfortable reaching out to her. Not that I’d even know what to say. “I’m sorry you went through that?” “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you?” I don’t know any details, just broad strokes. I have every reason to believe she is okay now, and that the horrific ordeal is in the past. But it still hurts my heart to know this thing was happening right in front of me and I was so totally oblivious.
DRASTIC TONE AND SUBJECT CHANGE. Even though it required turning on my oven, I did some medicinal baking yesterday. I made my favorite summer treat, a purple plum torte. Typically, I make it in a nine-inch pan but this time I made it in a six-inch pan and it was so good. Because it’s taller, the cake had to cook a little longer for the middle to set, and the edges caramelized into a delicious cookie-like crust, and the plums settled in the middle into a gorgeous jam. A plus, would make again.
Comeuppance. Do you remember, lo these many weeks ago, when I was complaining about the neighbors’ kids being outside late at night playing basketball? Well, we had a friend sleep over on a weeknight and due to manyfactors, including my ATM experience, everything took place much later than I planned. The kids got in the pool at… nine. It was dark, which was not ideal, and resulted in some spooked screeching. But a night swim is a novelty and it was the only time they had to swim and I knew they weren’t going to sleep anyway. I shushed them anytime they spoke above normal conversation volume, and they ended up playing a very nice quiet game until about eleven.
The next day, Carla ran into one of her dog friends and its human companion, and she ended up mentioning that she’d been swimming the previous night. The human said, “Oh yes, I heard.”
GULP. I am a noisy inconsiderate neighbor too, it seems.
Don’t worry. I got my comeuppance. My next-door neighbors – not the basketball family – hosted a party the night before Independence Day and released three hours’ worth of massive fireworks into the night, terrifying the cat and stressing my child out with fears of fire. They stopped at about eleven. The next day, we had spent fireworks cartridges all over our driveway, backyard, and even the top of my car. I picked them all up without complaint.
Are we seriously doing this? Last week, when it was still June, I went to Michael’s to buy birthday candles and what did I see? Halloween décor. Why. Just. Why???????? (Also, I really want the tall ghost with the jack-o-lantern candy dish.)
Introvert vs. extrovert. Carla rejected the idea of day camp this summer. I did sign her up for a bunch of short camps – short in terms of duration (2-3 hours) as well as length (weeklong) – but for a lot of the summer so far, she’s been at home with me. This has been exactly as difficult as I imagined it would be. She’s bored. She’s lonely. She’s unwilling to do the things I want her to do in order to make me feel like she’s Doing Things instead of sitting in front of a screen all day. The weather has been too rainy to spend much time outside or in the pool. The kids in the neighborhood have all been at camp. And because I refuse to let her sit in front of a screen all day, she has been by my side pretty much all day long.
This should be fun! It’s a gift, in fact, to spend unstructured time with my kid. We’ve played a bunch of board games, we had a girls’ day during which we went shopping and went out to lunch, we’ve run errands together, we’ve taken the kitten to the vet. We’ve also done a lot of screen time (which I am only now realizing is a loophole in my No Screens Until You’ve Done X Ruling), watching cat videos, having Modern Family and Brooklyn 99 marathons, watching movies.
I have also arranged playdates and mini golf and invited neighbors over to swim and made dates to go visit our old neighbors.
And yet there are so many hours to fill and so many of them seem to be filled with Carla – and the kitten – needing my attention. Which, again, is precious, and also I would just like some time alone for the love. My battery drains very quickly when I don’t get time to myself, even when those people are my beloved child, and I am at my limit. (Yes, I have tried waking up early but the cat is always already awake and ready to eat and then play, and then the playing wakes Carla up, and there’s never any time alone.)
Poor Carla, born an only child to introverted parents, is a social creature who LOVES people and loves chaos and excitement and busyness. I know she is bored and lonely, and I’m trying to secure additional time with her friends, and I’m trying to remind myself that I am the grownup here, and this is my responsibility as her parent as well as a person who loves her. I am also trying to remind myself that being bored is GOOD for kids. Although I think the reason it’s good for kids is that it supposedly inspires them to be creative, while my child is creatively velcroing herself to my side. I am trying to remind myself that she won’t always want to spend time with me, and that, in fact, any moment now she could decide she never wants to speak to me again, and I should treasure this time. I am TRYING; this summer is TRYING as well, but in a different way.
Okay. Now that I’ve whined all over the internet, I’m going on a hunt for outdoor throw pillows with my husband and child. At a store, not, like, in the yard, in case that wasn’t clear.
What complaints and frets are cluttering up your mental garage?
