Bitterness...Paper Bags Needed

Bitterness.  Not something I'm prone to feeling or indulging in, but after making the devastating decision to give up our beloved home and search for another; I'm starting to wallow in it.  Four score and...well, a long time ago, we purchased our home being led to believe our school district was something it is not.  A place that would help our as of then imaginary children.  A challenging haven where they would grow and blossom.  Our children that would be robotically intelligent, and gifted.

Seems we were correct on only one of those accounts.  The first piece of the previously pristine bitter wall inside me breaks off and burns through my body.

My children are exceptional.  Yeah, yeah, I know everyone says that; but I'm actually living the horror.  Yes, I said it...horror.  The anxiety ridden sob fests because an unchallenged child tests off school charts, tests into gifted programs at a highly prestigious college - only to be told, "Sorry.  Nothing we can do.  District policy.  Give it two more years."

I don't have two more years.  The bitterness wall is slowly permeated with cracks.

In two years, exceptional children stop trying to be exceptional.  They learn that the world is teaching them that minimal effort is still better than most others' best.  Two formative tween years where they witness people acknowledging they are bored and doing nothing to help them.  It's like watching someone drown while holding a stick that would pull them to shore.  That is not what I want to teach my children.

Calls go out to find a place to nurture these greedy little minds.  And the calls are answered with care and intelligence and promise.  So we begin our search.

Then we find it.  The house.  The house that we're easily able to forfeit everything we've worked so hard to update and care for in our own.  The house that spoke to something deep inside of me (and that strangely the hubs loved as well).  It had been on the market for a while - waiting for me, for us, I think.  The offer goes in and we know it's just a matter of time and the back & forth negotiation.  Or is it?

When my mother said life's not easy, she wasn't kidding.  I feel for the sellers - going through a divorce, my heart breaks for them.  You can tell they loved their home too.  She wants to counter; we're almost there.  Then he steps in and decides that after a month on the market, he's just going to buy her out.

Another piece of bitterness breaks off inside me as I watch my children's faces when I break the news.  I watch in helplessness as one child crumples over his plans for the new room he's already claimed; and as another realizes there is now zero chance of starting the year off fresh in a new place where challenges would await right inside the door.

I work hard to not let them see me cry or act as vengeful as I feel. Yet one more thing I don't want to teach them.  And another piece of bitterness breaks off to pool in my stomach, that no amount of "the right house is out there" will wash down.

I know that holding onto anger is like drinking a poison and expecting someone else to die.  And in the same breath that I wonder how strong I am, I also wonder if it's strong enough to heave a flaming bag of shit into his front yard...

NO MORE WIRE HANGERS!!!

One thing that I'm amazed about in regard to being a mother is how fast my mind can play out an entire scenario.  Like, in the span of .003 seconds, my brain can have registered that my child has lied to me and where this conversation is going to go...  Like last night.

Tuesdays.  In the Spring and Summer.  I dread them.  My husband goes sailing.  It's his night out.  And while I typically wouldn't mind, it's as if my children have found a colossal shit show pill and collectively take one right when they get home from school.  Every Tuesday.

That's not to say we're not a hot mess other days of the week, but Tuesdays are a completely different caliber.  This stuff is completely out of the ball park, where two parents would struggle to survive...and I'm alone.  Utterly alone.  Where was I going with that...oh, right, blink of an eye.

Anyways, fast forward through two separate lying incidents from two separate children, me raising my voice and getting sarcastic with the third who felt the need to butt into the conversation she had nothing to do with - I had finally calmed down.  The kids resigned to their punishment of not playing outside on a gorgeous evening and absolutely NO TV.

While coloring not three feet from me, my youngest, brandishing a pair of scissors leans back and cuts her hair.  Just cuts it.  Then looks over her glasses at me to see if I was looking.  Ballsy, that one.  I'll admit, I was a little shocked.

Me: Did you just cut your hair?!?
Her: No.
Me: What?  Maybe I didn't hear that clearly.  Did you just cut your hair?
Her:  [rolling her eyes] No.
Me: You DO realize I'm sitting right here.  Right. Here.  I CAN see you.  Would you like to rethink your response???

Now, here's where it got good.  My voice was in check as mentally I was chanting to myself, "The windows in the house are open.  It's too early in the season for ALL the neighborhood to be reminded that you're psychotic..."  Phew.  No yelling.  And then it happens.

Her face takes about two seconds to go from stunned that I called her out on her BS, to lip quivering near crying to sudden resolution that she is a damned grown assed woman.  "YES!" She bites out at me.

[In my mind, I have seen where this conversation goes.  I am dumb enough to ask why she did it and her seven-year-old mind tells her it's a great idea to remind me that it IS indeed her hair.  At this point, I turn into Faye Dunaway/Joan Crawford and grab the child by the pony tail, drag her into the bathroom where I do something rash like shave her bald...]  .003 seconds.

I quickly down shift and decide not to ask the fateful question that will lead us all down the path of ruin.  Instead, I decide some things in life are just best left unanswered and I sent her to bed.  God help us all.

My Battle

Someone, somewhere brainwashed most mothers into thinking that to be a great mom and a good wife you had to put others before yourself.  It's been a long road, but I've come to realize that is a total crock of shit.  I mean, it might be true if you don't have enough food and then, well - yes...you should feed your children before you eat [same with clothes and shelter, etc. etc.]; but this should NEVER be true when it comes to your health and mental well being.

See, I've spent countless years seeing to everyone else's activities and plans and daily happenings that I completely neglected my own.  I wound up feeling beaten and broken and tired.  How the hell was I taking care of anyone in that state?!?  Frankly, I'm not sure how I did for quite some time.

And one day recently, I pulled some clothes out of my closet that used to fit.  Before kids.  Before marriage.  Before I put others before seeing that my own basic needs were met.  I made a decision right then and there - Enough!  I hung them up where I can see them, and I've told myself it's not about my weight or being skinny; it's about being good to myself and ensuring I'm healthy enough to be around for those I need to take care of for a long time to come.

That afternoon, I dusted off my long-forgotten treadmill.  Reinstalled my Couch-2-5K app and asked my oldest to accompany me on my journey to being healthier (I can already see her down the road becoming me with her bookish ways and Mom-in-training attitude).  She agreed and now, not only do I run for me, but I run for her too.

I'm slow.  I'm chubby.  I'm not fit.  But every day, I strap on my kicks and go out and tear it up because it's what I have to do.  For me.  For my body.  For my peace of mind.  And little by little I get faster.  I get stronger.  I get back to being the girl who made sure her own needs were met.

I'm getting there, but it's a struggle.  It's a battle.  Every day.  To put my book down.  To stop watching over every movement of my children.  To leave the dishes on the counter.  Some days, I'm better at it than others; regardless I keep trying.

And I think THIS is what makes me a better mother and wife.  Meeting MY needs.  Taking care of MYSELF.  I feel better.  I'm not so tired.  I don't feel broken [a little battered, yes...but broken, no].  My children are seeing that I'm not giving up on myself.

And with every foot fall I've gotten this little mantra [used to be I'd swear repeatedly in my head while running], and I've come to embrace it as my own:

I'm slow, I'm chubby, I'm not fit...but not for much longer!

Today, covered in sweat, I'm proud.  Today, I battled back and it felt good.  Today, I succeeded in taking back me.

It Was Cited In My Arrest Paperwork...

In a bold move [IMHO], Weight Watchers tapped Oprah to be their new spokesperson.  Outside of her gobs and gobs of money, I totally feel her.  I, too, have struggled with weight my whole life.  I, too, have been a yo-yo of incessant trial and error.  And most importantly, I, too, fucking LOVE bread.

There, I said it.  I.  Fucking.  Love.  Bread.

And I've tried every diet known to man.  Grapefruit diet.  Yup. The whole 'Eat Less & Run More' diet thing.  And the Atkins.  And that's when I realized something - when you tell me I can't have something, I become like a rabid dog.  I would kill for it.  I've transformed into an aggressive and mean person...ok, I became even more aggressive and mean.  Purely because I couldn't have bread.  Like, I'm going to be arrested and there written in the arrest write up [or whatever it's called] will be clear as day:

"It had been 10 days since she had bread when she went on her rampant killing spree that left 15 dead, with countless maimed and crippled for life..."

Bread.

It's such a simple thing really - some flour, some water, some yeast.  But it is SO much more.  the crispy outside texture.  The soft and fluffy inside texture.  The magic of its versatility: it's a sandwich, Noooo - it's toast.  Noooo - it's garlic bread.  MAGICAL, I SAY!

So, every time Oprah comes on my TV, I feel like standing up and cheering, "YAAAAAS!  OMG!  I love bread too, Oprah!"

Then the commercial ends.  And I am sad - 1. Because I don't have a sandwich right now and 2. Because my love of bread HAS to be what hinders me from losing this extra three bazillion pounds I need to shed.  But mostly because 1. I don't have a sandwich.

[sigh]

Thanks, Oprah.  I, too, LOVE bread...