I can't seem to shake my bad mood off this weekend. Usually I bounce from work to home and back, checking items of my to do lists, feeling productive and energetic. I remember to put make up on both of my eyes most mornings, and take pleasure in choosing something nice to wear. I'm productive, I work hard, and am pleasant and friendly to my coworkers. I care about the people who report to me, and try to support them and create a happy work environment. The children eat almost healthy meals almost every night, their clothes are clean if not ironed, they are healthy and are even quite well behaved most of the time. In the evenings after work I read to them, and get on the floor and do puzzles when often I would rather be flatlined on the couch hooked up to a wine IV.
I think of our life, indeed describe it to others as exhilarating, everything I have ever wanted. If pushed I'll admit to it being challenging, even rather tiring. Sometimes though another word keeps forming itself in my mind when I describe my life to myself. Relentless. It just keeps on coming; work, home, work, home; proving myself in the new job; keeping on top of email and experiments. Always busy at home: the never ending mounds of laundry, the hurriedly eaten meals, the constant picking up of tiny bits of plastic, the daily battles to brush someone's mass of curly hair. The sense that nothing is ever as well organized as I want it to be.
Even our weekend trips up to Tahoe can start to feel like a drag. A frenzy of packing to get up there, too late to bed after the long drive then woken too early by the kids; the lovely loft style of the home proving uncondusive to mummy or daddy sleeping in. Getting everyone out of the house to a ski resort the next morning is such an effort. Lunch to be packed, coloring books and toys too, hats, goggles and gloves, skis and poles, big and small, cash and cameras and phones. I've resorted to a check list on my phone to make sure everything gets there, which of course only works if I actually remember my phone. Kids need to be wrestled into ski gear, pinned down for the application of the aptly moniker-ed "sun scream" lotion, bustled into the car and our again. Then there are tickets to buy, gear to be schlepped across the parking lot, a table to be found in the heaving lodge....and then we have to get all of our belongings back home again afterwards too.
Despite all this effort Geekygirl is a reluctant skier. I confess that this is a great frustration to us since I dream of us being a family who loves to ski together. This and Geekyboy's complete disinclination to potty train are my great parenting woes at the moment. I am so tired of poopy diapers. I was so grumpy this weekend that I ended up getting cross with Geekygirl. She was whining about skiing, falling down on purpose if I didn't physically hold her up, and I yelled and told her that I didn't want to teach her if she wasn't even going to try.
Geekydaddy sent me away to blow of some steam on the slopes, and after a few runs by myself, a few deep breaths of calming mountain air and a couple of contemplative lift rides I gave myself a good kick in the pants. If the only things getting me down are that my son won't poo on the loo and my daughter isn't much of skier then I should be extremely grateful. My children are healthy. My husband is wonderful. My family wasn't wiped out by a tsunami and my drinking water isn't radioactive.
Still, its OK to get grumpy every now and again, surely, even if my life looks pretty enviable on paper?
