AN HOUR AND A HALF

Motherhood is hard. So is marriage. And both are difficult when your spouse travels. I don't mean to be vague, I just want a break. Not from marriage. Not from motherhood. Just a little rest from the grind. A fucking day off. Not coming anytime soon, though. Hubby got back at 8 p.m. from an exhausting four-day trip. We are tagging along on his next trip (Long Beach) this Thu-Sun. At least we'll all be together in the same spot. Then I have to head down south to take my Dad in for yet another foot surgery on Mon. Who the fuck knows how long I will have to stay down there taking care of him. My Sis will be in Maui on vacation and Dad didn't bother to check schedules until six days before his surgery. I just want a break.

I am actually looking forward to my yearly check-up today. I'm dropping The Girl off with friends so I will have an hour and a half off. I will enjoy the time in the waiting room. I will probably even enjoy the exam. Sad. Of course I may just break down in tears while sitting on the table in my paper gown and she will up my meds. Either way, I still have an hour and a half off.

THE SAD STORY OF THE BLOG MUTE

There is stuff going on. Nothing to be alarmed at, just the usual things, funny things, life, etc. Unfortunately I no longer have the ability to write them down. It's like I suddenly became blog mute. Really, I can write. I write funny things. I write mostly truthful things. I just don't have the ability to do it here, on my blog, the place I usually write these sorts of things. I don't know what it is. OK I might know what it is in a "general crappy-feeling" kind of way.

Something is not quite right. I know that's why I take the meds, but really, something else is off. Not physical. No aches or pains. More like a general feeling of waiting for something to happen. Will it be bad? Will it be neutral? Will it just be a change? I have no f-ing clue. The only way I can put it into words is to compare it to a high school trauma/drama. Remember that time when your parents found out one of your secrets (smokes in the backpack, birth control pills in your sock drawer, that note your hot boyfriend wrote detailing what he wanted to do to your girl parts) and you knew you were going to get a lecture or that "I'm so disappointed talk?" That is sort of what it's like. Kind of like dread. But not quite that bad.

I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the first one never dropped so I am at a loss over what this is about.

So for now I will chock it up to a bout of the blues due to my dad's surgery (If he died, would I be an orphan?), combined with my lack of a break from The Girl (looking forward to preschool Mon.), and the ongoing cold/laryngitis/possible sinus problems of The Hubby.

On the bright side, I am going to Vegas on Valentine's day. ALL. BY. MYSELF. More on that later. Damn, typing that made me feel a bit better already.

SEVEN DAYS IS ONE TOO MANY

The Hubby has been gone six days. He'll be back home by lunchtime tomorrow (Sat.). I have the great fortune of in-laws who love to have us visit when The Hubby is out of town. They get to spoil The Girl and I get to read a book. Win-win. Except when there are germs involved. The Girl has had a cold all week and I went ahead and did the honest & upright thing by telling the in-laws. They are germ-averse folks, not the "hey come on up and we'll make her chicken soup folks." So we didn't go visit them Thurs. - Sat. as planned. Instead we stayed home and I have kept The Girl happy with trips to the park, to the park and to the park, tried to keep up with the laundry and keep my my shit together (aka sanity). Throw in two trips to KFC this week and it's a fucking party.

This morning she announced that her stuffed pig Paulette had to go to the Pig Park. "And where is the Pig Park," I asked. "Right next to the Dog Park," she answered. So we went. Then I went home and cut back the overgrown flowers and plants in the backyard so The Hubby would only have to mow the lawn this weekend. And then we went to another park at the beach later. No nap for either of us. She didn't want to eat anything for dinner except a banana, grapes and carrots. No amount of bribery or threats of no TV were going to get the mac & cheese down. She was obstinate, violent, crabby, tired and very, very three. Then I lost it and yelled. Then I cried and wailed.

She started to cry. Her hair was already damp from running around and from the tantrum. She looked up at me all wet and red-faced and pleaded for a hug. "Please hug me Momma. Hug me. Hug me." She kept saying it even as I had her in a tight bear hug with tears streaming down both our faces. Then my heart broke because she said, "Please don't cry anymore, Momma. I'll be good."

I just wish he could have come home today. I really tried to keep my shit together, but sometimes I just can't. And no amount of deep breaths or rationalizing that she is only three is going to help. Six days is my limit for being a single parent. A shower and mommy milk in the big bed made it better for The Girl. But what makes it better for me? Why do I doubt my ability? Why is this the one job I always feel I'm going to get fired from?

DAD, DEPRESSION & CHEMICALY GOODNESS

It's starting already. Fall is coming. Depression (I typed desperation first. Hello, Dr. Freud?). It is creeping in along with the crisp evening air and the Halloween displays at Target. I never liked September because of all the back to school bullshit, not to mention the actual act of going back to school. Now September means waiting for the other shoe to drop. Who will say it first? My sister? Me? My dad himself? "Dad seems a little down," we say. September is when is starts. It's the month my mom started to get really sick 10 years ago. Ten Septembers. Ten times I have started worrying, waiting. Ten times I have made a point to increase the phone calls and visits. Ten times I have felt the pain that comes with the Fall. Ten times I have wished that it would be January already, so we could all give a sigh and say, "Dad seems to be doing great, huh?" Ten years of thanking the antidepressant gods for their chemicaly goodness. Guess it's time for a double dose.

Dad called Sunday. Said he was having a blue weekend. He was hoping to stave it off with a round of golf. And promissed he was taking his meds. I hate September.