Back in the day, I would reflect upon time in year-long increments and, with the benefit of hindsight, decide if it had been a good year or a bad year. As I got a little older (read: got married and had kids) my determinations came by the month. And, as the kids started to grow up and their problems got (increasingly) bigger, my measurement was by the week and, during particularly obnoxious stretches, sometimes even the day. It is not until recently that I have been forced into an hourly assessment. I would say that the last 123 hours (that’s better than five days for the mathematically challenged) have sucked.
It all began with the wild unpleasantries of Saturday when, in an effort to function calmly as a family, things didn’t go so well. It was just one of those days when everyone (present company included) was cranky and I was prepared to grab my mascara, take a cab to the airport and get on the first plane to anyplace that wasn’t here. Kansas sounded good. And then things got bad.
As I have already shared, Saturday’s shenanigans paled in comparison to Sunday when Rich wound up in-patient at the hospital in agony. The next several days included lots of pain (Rich) lots of anxiety (me) lots of effort to gain attention (Jessie), lots of flying under the radar (Harrison) and very little sleep (me, again). Throw in a few unpleasant interpersonal interactions and then put a fork in me…I’m done.
Now it is Friday. Rich is still not feeling well (and, to add insult to injury, is on medication which disallows him to have even a sip of alcohol unless he is interested in becoming violently ill) my back is flippin’ the bird to Motrin, and no one is any less cranky. But, it is not just the big scary things that are making it feel like my family is standing in quick-sand, it is the little stuff, too. Like my down comforter that I felt compelled to wash and is now on its fourth dryer cycle and still not dry. Or the fact that Harrison sent me a link to register and pay for ($180 a couple!?!??) the Junior Semi-formal only to be then congratulated on signing him up for summer school. (In fairness, it was a school screw up and not Harrison’s, but for a split second I was awash with fear that he was trying to tell me something…) It is Jessie and those damned sparkly shoes which were a source of great negotiation for many hours and, of course, freaking killed her feet…after she wore them all day at school. It is the middle of the night musings over how Jessie’s transition is going to proceed or not proceed or trip us all up or not trip us all up. It is the thirty degree temperature swings which are messing not only with my clothing choices, but my hair, as well. It is, well, never mind. Even I am getting bored with this.
As I have said repeatedly, it is difficult (and by difficult I mean virtually impossible) to differentiate between that which is crap related to the fact that we are doing all that we can to support our child who has identified as transgender and that which is just crap. So many people have such bigger, scarier and more dire situations than ours, yet there are hours that I simply don’t believe that. Am I selfish? Self absorbed? Self preserving? I don’t know, but I do know that I will be really happy when this long stretch of shitty hours is over.
A crazy aside: when I spell check my blog posts the one word that is never recognized is “mascara”…I take that personally.