It might be just slightly about me

I love my kids. How could I not? It is my firmest of beliefs that they are the most brilliant, funniest, gorgeous creatures to roam the face of the earth. But that said, I have to admit how much I treasured the shared parenting schedule Matt and I worked out a couple of years ago. It was slightly choppy, but hello? There were weekends when I had more than 48 hours. To myself. And now, in this post-stroke life where Matt is healing and is now in Utah where he and Jen are putting their mom in an assisted living facility and their father is dying? Ain't no 48 minutes without at least one of our spawn demanding something. And? I'm so damn tired. Not that I'm counting, but I've been with Devon for 64 days and nights in a row. That's a lot of 48 hours all strung together.

I totally get that Matt's stroke is not about me, nor is his father's cancer or his mother's dementia. But it's hard on my side of the fence too. Today by 6:57 a.m. Cassidy had already decided I fully sucked as a human being and totally sucked ass at being her mom. I can't exactly recall where I went wrong but I suspect she heard the dreaded word NO from my lips, it pertained to her and her rights to exist peaceably as an individual and she decided I had to go down for the count. Then Devon had to argue that is was simply impossible to keep his uniform pants cuffed to avoid ruining yet ANOTHER pair of khakis, and really it was my shortcomings that lead to him ruining his school pants. Whatever. All I know is that the relief of getting to work where my children were not was nothing short of bliss.

There have been a gazillion wonderful moments during this time with the kids, I'm not claiming otherwise. It has also been a time of healing and, before Matt went to Utah, an amazing time of reconnecting. Having the kids, Matt and me together in the same room at the same time and feeling the small tendrils of hope that we can somehow be a family under some definition is nothing less than a beautiful cosmic gift. So I am grateful. And, I'll admit, other than the hormonal roller coaster of another child entering puberty, it isn't always an invite only pity party for one. I'll definitely accept guests.