The boys are gone to football camp until Tuesday. I would be a nasty mean evil mother if I even thought I was enjoying the thought of two whole days of not worrying about what time they will be home, why they aren't home, who they are with, are they working, where is the girlfriend, who is the girlfriend, are they doing something they shouldn't, are the cops involved, is there a fight, is there another girl, is there a vehicle going around corners on two wheels that belongs to me, will there be a fight tonight, will there be a grounding tonight, am I a shitty parent, are my kids wasting their lives, their chances, will they be productive adults, do they like me, do they love me, can I do this, can I do this right, how do I do this, can I live through this, who am I, what am I doing, what am I doing right, what am I doing wrong, what am I doing, really, really, how are my kids?
I need medication. Between trying to raise a VERY independent 19 year old girl who has been stretching her wings and boundaries and my last nerve to these two boys, almost 17 & 14...I am losing my fucking mind.
I tell myself. I need these two days. I need to find myself. CAN I DO IT IN TWO DAYS PEOPLE?! I doubt it.
Every day is such a challenge. I don't feel the fun anymore. Surely something is wrong when you don't feel the fun anymore.
Right now, I'm sitting here with a cold Amber Bock, NPR on the radio with soothing musak on, a fan on me, and all is well. Sitting down and writing this has put me into a "remember" mode and caused me some stress but really, all is well.
Today, after the boys left. I mowed, Mark mowed at Mom's and I washed and then I read 19 test messages from my youngest son of which 6 spelled out, "MOMMMMM!!!", and the other 13 said, "FORGOT FTBALL CLEATS NEED DAD 2 BRING THEM TO CAMP". Needless to say, it was 1 1/2 hour after the football bus had left and so, yes indeed, with gas the price it is, two boys on their way to a football camp we'd paid for, Mark made a mad dash (2 hours away) with the forgotten shoes. In order to torture my son, I texted him and said, GRANDMA ON HER WAY, IN MY BUG, WITH YUR SHOES". He was, in a word, mortified. My Bug is bright orange and has our coffee shop logo on it. This logo includes not only a dancing coffee cup but a dancing prescription bottle which is my husbands logo. NO People...he is not a drug dealer...just a pharmacist. My Mom would have been sure to scold my son thoroughly for forgetting something as important as his FOOTBALL CLEATS.
Only two days left before they come home...sigh