Missing Me

I know I’ve been whining a lot lately.  And it’s got to be getting old.

Unfortunately, there is no relief of the bitching and moaning here today.  Consider yourself warned…

On Saturday we went with Mr. and Mrs. Avitable to Mt. Dora – a cute little tourist town with shops and restaurants and tea and shit like that.  One of those places you go to roam and ramble and relax.

Not one of those places you drag two little kids.

However, my husband’s new job has him working weekends – every weekend, both days.  Forget for a moment how much this sucks for him (and he does still get two days off, they are just during the week) and let’s focus on the fact that this requires me to bring two little kids – one of whom is relishing her Terrible Two’s – everywhere that I go.  Always.

As we walked through the shops and I threatened my children and tried to contain a wiggling ball of “energy”, I found myself looking around longingly and the “roamers” – the people trying desperately to enjoy some peace and quiet despite my noisy ass children.  I realized I was daydreaming about lazy Saturdays spent antiquing, which is totally retarded because I’m not a big antiquer.

I am, however, a shopper.  And the fact that I can’t imagine for the life of me when I will have a chance to go shopping again all by myself… well… I am not exaggerating when I tell you I drove home very, very close to tears.

And, yes, I know, my mom is right.  NOTHING is “for always”.  Nothing.  This too shall pass and what not.

But I find that I am really, really, really missing “me” time.  Which is odd, because I’ve never been a big one for “alone” time.  I’d much rather surround myself with people and conversation and left to my own devices, quite honestly, I’m bored as hell.  “Me” time usually means I grab for the phone and the company of another voice.

But now… well… even my beautiful glass shower has turned into a torture device.  I can’t be in there two minutes without Emma’s little face pushed up to the glass going “Mama, MaaaaaaaaMA, whatchadoin? Is this Emma’s bath?  Mama’s bath? Watcha doing? I want pop tarts! There are monschers in Brover’s ROOM! MAAAAAAAAAAma!”

Thank God there is a door on the “water closet” so I can pee in quiet.

The ironic part is, I couldn’t WAIT to get down here.  I couldn’t wait to be done with the painting and fixing and staging and selling and packing and moving and just… breeeaaaathe.  I was so excited for all the family time we’d have, far away from obligation after obligation.

Now, I would kill for a grandparent or two – and not just because I’m missing everyone back home like crazy.  No, as much as I miss them, I am CRAVING a little baby sitting relief.  I just want to be by myself for a little while.

I mean, technically, I am alone for almost two hours every day.  In the car.  On I fucking 4.  If trapped with 5 million morons on wheels can count as being alone.

I’m just so fucking overwhelmed.  And I know this won’t last forever.  And I know I did this myself, I wanted this.  But right now it just feels like there is no relief in sight.  Right now I’m looking down a road that seems to stretch on forever and ever and ever and I just want to cry.  That deep down sobbing where you just cry and cry and cry really, really hard until you can BREATHE again.

I need air.  I need release.  I need more than a 30 minute bath or something.  I need a fucking valve installed so that I can unload ALLLLLLL of the stress, once and for all.

What I need… what I really, really need… is to shop.  Really, really shop.  Oh dear God to I need a bargain hunting spree soooo badly right now.

(and yes, thank you, let me save you the email, I am this much of a shallow cry baby brat, OK?)

(And – back to my husband and how much working weekends must suck.  HE gets two days off still.  During the week.  And we pay for day care by the week with NO discounts if they aren’t there.  So, he can have two WHOLE FUCKING DAYS IN A ROW ALL BY HIMSELF!!  EVERY. FUCKING. WEEK!  I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I’m actually kind of jealous of his schedule.)

So, for those of you reading who are wondering what to send me for a housewarming gift (and if you’re not, why?  seriously, people have no manners these days) – may I kindly, and subtly suggest Mary Freaking Poppins?

Shit, time to wrap up.  I hear the ending credits of Sponge Bob…

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