It’s been a tough couple days.  Hoss ran away from an event on Sunday- he wasn’t happy about being in a big group of kids, and was not very interested in making cards for soldiers.  So, while I was in the parent meeting, he just scooted out of the room, headed to the playground and didn’t look back.  I should have warned the adults in charge when I dropped him off, but I didn’t think he was at the point of running away from situations the way he did six months ago.

I let someone get under my skin at work.  I got a comment that was not meant as a personal criticism, but I couldn’t help but take it that way.  This woman comes across as quite critical, so most of the things that upset me are probably not really meant to be as scathing as they are.  It shook me to my core, though, because the administrative stuff is the only thing where I am the expert, the one in charge.  When someone is dismissive and snarky about it, it’s insulting to me.

The bills are mounting faster than the paychecks are right now.  The kids need new school clothes, thanks to some growth spurts since the last time long pants and sweatshirts were needed.  I can put off buying stuff for myself, but sending Princess to school with high water pants would be a bad thing.  The van is due for service, tuition is due, we’re almost out of covered sessions for Hoss’ outpatient therapy. And I’m not sure what to cut to find a way to cover it all.

I was clearing out the cup holder in the van, and I found some pieces of paper.  One side had some printing that looked to be questions to spur discussion at the outpatient therapy program, the other side was filled with Hoss’ handwriting.  “I <3 electronics.”  “Milks [sic] close to the only thing I drink.”  “I hate my mom.”  I know he doesn’t mean it.  I mean, when I poured his juice so he could take his meds yesterday, he told me he loved me.  But it still hurts to see the words on paper.

But I don’t have the luxury of falling apart right now.  Hubby has a bunch of night events at school, so I’m on my own.  The tears, like the rum and vodka on the shelf, like the ice cream in the freezer, are something I need to push aside.  I’m afraid if I start, I won’t stop.  Maybe I’m overreacting, maybe I could stop at a reasonable level.  But I can’t take the chance.  I have to help Princess solve for “x.”  I need to record how many minutes Lil Joe spent reading his picture books.  I need to verify that Hoss’ spelling words have been written three times each.  I have to oversee the tooth brushing and baths.

Sometimes I miss the days when I could wallow.  When I could hide in bed and pull the covers over my head.  There was a time when I could hole up, and there was no chance that I would need to be on call to attend to anyone else’s needs.  No one else got hurt back in the day if I went crazy and ate a whole pound of Oreos.  Now, I have to be grown up and responsible and dependable.  I know it’s better for everyone when I am in control, that the days when I could be crazy were not OK.  But I’m tired.  I’m just so darned tired.