The difference between having infants and having teenagers is that if you leave your carpets unvacuumed, no one is likely to choke to death on a rogue dime. And if your teenagers are awake all night, you can go to sleep anyway. Plus, if teenagers are stinky, all you can do is suggest a shower and some deodorant, but it’s really out of your hands. However, infants don’t sass and they are usually delighted to see you.
After another day here in the house, working, while kids play and bicker, that’s all I’ve got. The snow has melted, but has been replaced by wind and rain and the kids are inside, playing video games, annoying each other and eating all the tortilla chips and nacho cheese they can find. I can’t catch up on laundry even though I’m constantly carting dirty laundry to the laundry room and carrying clean laundry upstairs. When I’m not working, I scheme to get out of the house instead of staying put and cleaning out cupboards and the storage room.
For it’s that time of the year when I want to purge, to dig out the casserole dishes I haven’t seen since I shoved them into the cupboard a year or two ago. I want to clear the floor of the storage room but in order to do that, I need to ditch the toys I stashed there. I need to figure out why I have nothing to wear and yet my closet is stuffed. I should organize the spices. But I don’t want to do any of that if there is a chance I can run away from home.
Truth is, I feel a little gloomy. I recognize it as a low-grade depression or maybe just melancholy typical to my personality, but I don’t want to do much of anything. I have to work. I have to take care of the children. I have to function, but all I really want to do is sleep and read and eat and go to the movies.
By the way, I read The Tale of Despereaux last night. It was so much different from the movie and, of course, so much better. I’m also reading Ninety Minutes in Heaven because it was co-written by Cec Murphey, whom I’ve become acquainted with this year. (Barely–we’re on a Yahoo group, but he is Someone and I am not.) Before that, I read Child of My Heart (Alice McDermott) and The Reader (Bernhard Schlink).
What are you reading? Do you recommend it? I think I’m going to read Elizabeth Berg or Anne Tyler next.