Thursday, July 22, 2010

Broadcasting Live From the Long Dark Teatime of the Soul

This is what the boys did yesterday while I was washing wedding cake dishes. I knew they had the hose on and I could see them from the window above the sink, but somehow I forgot to look at them. They flooded the patio, which flooded the basement. With gallons and gallons and gallons of water. They came running up the stairs, muddy and breathless and reported "there's water in the house! Lots of water!!!"
Indeed.
I stood there for a minute and tried to summon a can-do attitude, but the most productive response I could muster was to sit down on the only dry spot I could find and sob.
This morning Matteas peed the bed and when I put him in the tub to clean up he pooped in the bath water. I feel like this is a metaphor for my life right now; work, more work, and then while I'm trying to do the work someone shits on it.
I never wanted to have kids, and I knew it. But then I had a few by accident and I thought that I grew up and got over myself, but here I am five years later still seething with resentment. I would like to insert some touching anecdote here about getting to the end of a hard day and kissing the boys goodnight, about feeling a soft cheek against mine and the voice of a little boy whispering about how I'm the best mom in the whole world, how all the blood and sweat and tears are so worth it. But I don't feel that way. I feel like it is hard and shitty and thankless, and then the little darlings flood the basement.
Also, this morning Jack announced that he does not love me. I know that he's five years old, that all kids say that to their parents at some point, that I should not take it personally. But I do because it is a mean thing to say and if it is really true then there's not much point to what I do all day. Parenting is not modelled on capitalism, and this is part of what is wrong with it. If you work hard at something, you should be rewarded. Maybe not with a huge paycheck, but at this point I'd settle for job satisfaction. Instead I work my ass off for a group of people who, far from appreciating my efforts, tend to resist and resent them. Jack refused to eat breakfast this morning, which means he is setting himself up for a migraine later. I can play scientist all I want and take notes on his behavior and various reactions to all kinds of situations and factors, I can discover all there is to know about migraines and Jack's particular chemistry, but when it comes down to it I cannot force him to comply with any remedies. This is infuriating. Especially today, because I scored an appointment with a neurologist at Children's due to a cancellation, without which he'd have to wait until late September to be seen. He doesn't care because he's not in pain at the moment, and I resent that he is only motivated by incentive or by consequence; why can't he be good simply because it's the right thing to do?
To add insult to injury, Aaron and I do not agree on the reality of Jack's migraines. Aaron knows he gets them and how much medicine to give him if it happens, but he doesn't take my word for it when it comes to triggers. Jack can't handle a lot of stimulation or prolonged activities; we can't go to the park after three hours at school without going home for a snack first. I've tried it. The result is always the same. The other night Aaron took the boys out for pizza and then to a movie. Jack got a headache when they got home. I think Aaron wants Jack to be a normal kid who can do normal things, but he isn't and he can't. Aaron's failure to accept this fact makes me feel crazy, because I work really hard to manage Jack and figure him out, then Aaron disregards what I say. This means he thinks that I am either a) stupid or b) wrong, and both conclusions are distasteful. Also, he will be mad that I wrote that. I should probably care about the fact that Aaron will be mad, but right now I don't because I am tired of repeating and repeating and repeating myself and not being heard.
I feel like the guy in Greek mythology whose damnation involves rolling a heavy boulder up a steep hill over and over, but every time he nears the top the boulder magically appears at the bottom of the hill again. He never gets to the top, but he has to keep trying again and again. I find it cruel that parenting is so psychologically torturous; how am I supposed to raise healthy, happy kids when they're driving me fucking bonkers?
A friend on Facebook was in distress the other day, and someone posted a comment to her which read "God doesn't give you more than you can handle." I want to punch people who say that. If you really believe in God, then you're not the one handling things anyway. And how is that supposed to be consoling anyway? All it really says is that your feelings aren't valid: if it happened, you can handle it.
Now I get to go spend a couple of hours in the car so I can talk to someone about Jack's migraines while he dorks out and makes noises like a baby so that the doctor and I can't hear each other. But first I have to find Jack and make him put pants on against his will, which he will probably really appreciate. After the appointment I will call Aaron and tell him what the doctor said, and he will believe her because she is a doctor. She might be a mom as well, but that's not the important part.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You can leave those boys with me, and escape from the insanity for a while! I know it's only temporary, but it's the best I can offer. :)