Ranting and Raving

Today was one of those days. One of those days where my mood matched the weather and I felt a little jutstified laying on the couch while my kids watched way too many episodes of Curious George. I was glad that it was raining because the sunshine would have made me feel a little guilty (about the tv watching) and I am all full up on the guilt-o-meter. Full up on lots of the yuck lately, fed up with myself and overall stuck in a rut of blah. Really not so much like my personality, all the negativity. But the last few months haven't really been so much like me. At least not the me I like. I am really good when things are going good, which is most of the time. I am not so good at the bad. And some people are. I look at some of my friends that have really bad stuff and they operate with such grace. Me? Not so much. Rather disappointing really. I had always hoped I would deal with life well, whatever it dealt me. But even the small blips seem to send me over the edge of late. Here's a sampling.

Last Thursday Jeffrey had his annual hearing test at Primary's. As we walk through the front doors Paige sees a little baby and begins to chant "baby's dead, baby's dead..." over and over. The boys think she is hilarious and before I know it I have 3 children chanting "the baby's dead" as loud as they can in the middle of the hospital. People stare, I can't blame them. It's strange. We get upstairs and see the audiologist. She comes out to talk with me before she takes Jeffrey in with her. Paige keeps repeating herself, talking over the audiologist, forcing her to respond. "What sweetie?" "The baby's dead." She says it clear as day, the audiologist pretends not to understand. "What?" "She said, the baby's dead," Owen yells at her. "Oh." Laughter ensues from all 3 children. She looks at me, baffled, uncomfortable. I apologize and get back to Jeffrey's ears, my concerns, talking quickly without actually looking her in the eyes. If I do I will cry. Thankfully, she takes the cue and leaves with him before I start to tear up. Will this ever go away?

Friday I decide to take the crew to Park City. Bad idea. It usually is with both of the boys together in any shopping situation that lasts longer than 10 minutes. This lasted longer. I blame myself, I should have known, should have remembered. But alas, the new J. Crew outlet was calling and I felt compelled to answer. They were crazy there, but I still had the promise of cookies from Mrs. Fields to use as leverage. It all fell apart at Banana Republic. But the whole store is 40% off, I rationalized. Just leave, my sanity pleaded, they are done, it will only get worse. 10 minutes and a dressing room later we are in line checking out. The boys are sword fighting with sticks found in a shoe box. I barely notice. The cashier next to me is free and the woman in line behind us pushes through, "Excuse me," she says, in the most impatient tone she can muster. I move Owen to my side so she can get through. "You might want to think about leashing them," she hisses, gesturing to my two boys. "And you might want to think about getting a life, " I reply. I am stunned. I cannot believe how rude she is, how rude she clearly meant to be, to me, a complete stranger. I could try to possibly understand if she had to wait in line with us (she didn't) and they had stepped on her toes (they hadn't) or somehow infringed on her space in any way. But they hadn't. She walked up after we were at the counter. Their presence alone (loud as it might be) was just enough for her to assert her nastiness on us. And again, it almost made me cry. I second guessed myself. Were they that bad? Was I that bad? Should I be mad at them? We walked out and I let them play at the playground. More nastiness, this time clearly not their fault. I was so done. The whole drive home I thought about what I could have said, should have said, to Miss Nasty. Witty replies having to do with female dogs and the muzzle she so clearly needed ran through my mind. In the end I was just glad I had said something. But still, the lump in my throat was there, threatening. Why?


Why are people mean? Why do I care? Why does this lump feel so permanent, as if the slightest provocation will turn on the tears I am trying so hard to hold back. I thought I was doing really well. I felt normal again. Then my Grandma died. It wasn't her dying that was so hard. It was going home, the funeral, the family, the whole process. All of my cousins were there. We are all the same ages with kids the same ages and I love to see them. Except that I don't. Because their children go to bed at 7 and sit perfectly still and listen to them the first time and don't run in circles around the chapel and throw tantrums at the most inopportune times. Nope. I am apparently the weak link here. And I hear the whispers and see the stares when they think I'm not looking and it hurts more than Miss Nasty in Park City because I love them and I wish I were better at the whole parenting thing, but really I'm just trying to keep it all together. And sometimes it doesn't go so well. Especially at funerals. So, I avoided the small talk and left early and came late and just avoided in general. Jeff thinks I shouldn't care. But I do. And that seems to be my great downfall. I shouldn't care, but I do. I shouldn't care that my kids embarrass me in front of the audiologist, they don't understand that it hurts me. I shouldn't care about a stranger in Park City, she must have issues bigger than me and my kids. And I shouldn't care that my cousins have perfectly behaved children and I do not. But I do. And I hate that I do. It makes me feel insecure and guilty. Ugh. WHY DO I CARE????? Why?