…or at least current. I still don’t understand why my kids think I’m so great. They listen to me, they take my advice, they like spending time with me. I don’t remember feeling that way about my own mother. Her experiences seemed irrelevant to me; outdated at least and stupid at most.
Boy midget often comes home to eat lunch and then rides his scooter back to school for his afternoon classes. He is so freaking happy when he arrives at our house to see me working from home. He hugs me, looks at me with love in his eyes, and is sad to leave for school. Boy midget is 12 years old. Girl midget, nearly 10 years old now, is much more standoffish and yet still more affectionate than one would expect, given her Machiavellian personality. I used to say she was sent to me to teach me patience. I remembered this last week when she confounded me yet again with an emotional outburst. At any rate, Mommy rules supreme in girl midget’s world for the time being. I won’t fool myself into thinking she will remain this way through the teen years.
A couple of weeks ago I was walking with girl midget outside during a cloudy, humid day. It had just rained outside so the sidewalk was wet, but the temperature was increasing. She remarked how much the weather reminded her of Peru. This reminded me of how much travel I have done with my children. Some people spend on their homes, some on cars. We spend on travel, that’s obvious even to people who don’t have access to my visa bills. You know what’s funny though? We hardly ever leave our city to do shorter trips, such as visiting my parents or other relatives. By the time I get to the weekend after working all week, I do not want to plan, drive, or accept anything less than the comfort of my own home. This bothers my parents because they want to see me. I do want to see them. I’m just not physically capable of accommodating these requests.
Every morning is a struggle for me to get out of bed, get everyone else out of bed, and push everyone (including myself) out the door into the world. The people around me forget I have an inner war going on every day because I am terribly amazing at faking normalcy. Push push push. Every day I’m Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill. Add any stress or upset to my schedule of wake, let dogs out, take meds, get kids up, and I practically fall apart. Even when the upset to my schedule is for a good reason, a happy reason, in my head I am coping, not enjoying. I think that’s the most important point for my loved ones to remember: disruption to my morning routine and weekend relaxation routine causes me more stress than it intends to alleviate. My kids all know I take meds to stabilize my daily moods and prevent me from getting overwhelmed by the slightest blip. But of course they can’t understand the depth of my chronic illness. I doubt anyone can, even other depressed people. I’m pretty great at pasting a smile on my face and getting on with my life, thank goodness.