Thank you all for commenting on Harry’s little blog post. He’s going to read and respond to the comments this afternoon. This is great practice for him – he doesn’t enjoy writing projects in school and we hear a lot of “he’s not working up to his potential” when we get to that section of the report card – so to see him excited about writing is really gratifying. He wants to post! every! day! but I’m thinking longer pieces once a week.
It’s been a rough few days.
Winter is still here. We had two snow days last week, and another one this week. Another virus is camped out over my house. Michael has a raging sinus infection. George has a bad cough and hasn’t slept more than an hour or so at a stretch in nearly a week, so he’s screamy, tantrumy, and angry all the time. Ron coughs all night. I’ve picked it up too, although I don’t seem to have it as bad (yet). All three little dayhome kids also have colds and Arthur is home sick today after a night of vomiting.
FUNTIMEZ, WE KNOWS HOW TO HAVE ‘EM.
Because it appears that winter is never going to end, ever, I have developed a certain sad fatalism about many things.
I don’t care if we spend too much on Ron’s birthday. If this is the end times, Game of Thrones-style, and summer is not coming for another decade or so, I want him to have a good time first. So he’s getting a party, and cupcakes, and presents, and everything. In the same spirit of why are we destroying our mental health working like dogs all the time if we aren’t going to enjoy it, we signed Harry up for a two-day baseball skills training camp with former Toronto Blue Jays players. And I’m going to Blissdom this fall again even though it’s really just a very expensive sleepover with my friends. Michael’s been muttering about a guys’ weekend in Montreal next winter and we’re talking about a weekend away this fall for our 10th wedding anniversary.
SPEND ALL THE MONEY, BURN THAT FISCALLY-RESPONSIBLE BRIDGE.
Don’t ask me about eating, or my weight. If I want to eat something, I do, without regard for the calories or later consequences. I wanted to try running this spring so I could get up to 5k and run with Harry, but the shoulders of the road are still packed with icy snow and the road itself isn’t much better. I haven’t gotten out for a walk with the kids in weeks because it just isn’t safe with a stroller and two prone-to-wandering preschoolers in tow.
I AM BUILDING UP A LAYER OF FAT FOR PROTECTION AGAINST COLD AND STARVATION AS WINTER GRINDS ON.
Our local weatherpeople, presumably because they are tired of finding flaming bags of poo on their doorsteps every morning, have taken to reporting the temperature to the tenth of a degree. Just now, my Twitter feed proclaimed “Current Conditions: 0.2C and mostly cloudy”. Because I am alternately filled with rage and sadness all the time now, this makes me want to reply in ranting fashion, castigating them for their stupid precision. It’s still winter, jerks. Tell me the temperature when we hit double digits.
Yesterday I finally told my Twitter friends that I have sunk back into S.A.D. depression. That I couldn’t make myself get up and prepare dinner. That the cycle for me is so entrenched now I’m not sure the return of the sun will fix it. It goes something like this:
1. Child (any child) does something they shouldn’t.
2. Hannah reacts more strongly than she should. There is yelling.
3. Hannah feels incredibly guilty that she overreacts.
4. Guilt feeds anxiety that Hannah is a bad mother who is damaging her children.
5. Anxious Hannah expresses said anxiety with anger.
Immediately, I was overwhelmed with support, and love, and cheesy song links. My friends near and far sent me messages and virtual hugs and sympathy.
Today, I’m still exhausted. We’re all still sick. It snowed last night. But I don’t feel quite as hopeless as I did.
And for that, I thank you.