By nature I’m not the most stable of individuals. Most of the time I’m cool with that and can roll with the punches. I mean I totally get that living with my mom, mothering the three kids while Matt is mostly out of town right now, loathing the extra 20 pounds below the expanse of my bust line and working a job at which I am entirely incompetent is bound to get a gal down. It just stands to reason. But lately that balance is just slightly off, and I have to say the urge to pull out all of my eyelashes and hide under the enormous pile of dirty laundry that can be found in most any room of the house is nearly irresistible.
My crazies aren’t necessarily bad crazies, there’s no puppy kicking here or baby pinching for pure pleasure. So it’s not all bad, in fact I like to fancy my instability as somewhat optimistic in nature. Were it to have a color it might be a soft salmon. And. I like to think the balance won’t go so over the edge that that pretty in pink won’t turn to bottom of the outhouse sludge brown.
There are factors that might push me over, the teenage girl child for instance. She’s the sort who all her teachers refer to as a star. “We wish they were all just like your sweet angel, “they tell me whenever I set foot in the school. She routinely wins scholastic awards and I always see her surrounded by the other children when I stop by the school. But, red sister? Angelic to me? Hell and no. Simply put, it’s psychological warfare at some point every day. She’s smarter than me. Faster. More cunning. And far more persistent. She’s going to eat me alive. And afterwards she’ll pick her teeth clean with my smallest rib, smile and look for her next conquest who will likely be her littler brother. Beacuse he's vanilla flavored. That’s the way she rolls.
The small boy child has been pushing me to the edge for the past month or so. This is a first for him because if one were to look in the dictionary for the word cherub, his pink cheeked face would be right next to it. During his six years I have rarely reached and edge with him, but the other night when he looked at me and said, “Mai-Mai you are using your tired voice again. I think you are at the end of your throat with me” I knew I needed a break. Luckily Matt has been in town and for the last three nights I have been without the constant halted chatter of his sweet, grating robot voice. I miss him like hell but the silence has been beautiful.
Strangely it has been the oldest who hasn’t been making me nuts lately. A year ago I was negotiating five F’s into at least C’s, this year he has nearly straight A’s and is so buoyed by the recognition he is getting for his filming that he has stayed out of trouble. The blessing of this is truly a weight off my soul.
So it’s not all bad, really. There is the beautiful bouquet of lilies that Matt sent me and I can smell them as I sit at my desk and pretend that I know what I’m doing. I’ve started yoga again. I have a prescription that is helping me sleep more than 90 minutes a night. And, speaking of sleep, the horrible water and tornado dreams I had for a couple of months are down to only a night or two a week. So really, maybe it’s all just PMS.