When my parents were my age, I was in college. I met my husband when my parents were my age.
At my age, I live with four kids who aren’t even remotely close to being college material. My daughter is only six. My teenagers are fifteen but I cannot even imagine them driving a car, let alone attending college or answering to a boss. I know things will change and they will mature and grow up and, hopefully, move out.
But in the meantime, I’m worn out from their company. An extrovert who finds refreshment in the company of many fellow human beings might find herself energized living in this house with its constant stream of neighborhood kids, not to mention the five other people who live here and who can’t seem to return return any item to its rightful home. (For instance, at a glance, I can see shoes and a random chopstick and a crocheted afghan and an empty water bottle.)
People wear me out, even people that are related to me.
These are the thoughts of a mom on the second week of Winter/Christmas vacation. The week prior to “vacation” were complicated by snowfall, so my daughter hasn’t been to school in three weeks. I’m not sure who missed it more–me or her.
I feel pretty terrible about feeling so wiped out. Did Ma Ingalls ever lose her cool when Mary and Laura got on her nerves? Did Mrs. Cunningham complain about the Fonz popping in to see Richie too often? Did Mrs. Cleaver ever roll her eyes at Eddie Haskell? Did Mrs. March ever scream her head off because Jo, Beth, Meg and Amy would not stop bickering?
No. No, no and no. But I have felt trapped and delirious and screamy at my kids and my life and my house. Especially since I told Sugar we can no longer be friends. (“And take your cousin, White Flour, with you!”)
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On another abrupt note, I saw “The Curious Tale of Benjamin Button” today. The movie was really good, beautifully filmed and acted and all that. You really need a “willing suspension of disbelief.” (I fixed that sentence thanks to Julana.) I did enjoy it, though. However, I read the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald the other night–I skimmed it to see the plot–and it was so vastly different that I kind of regret having done so before the movie. The short story and the movie shared only one or two points: a character name and the idea of aging backwards. (The synopsis and link to the story can be found here.)
My husband and I saw “Valkyrie” the other night with Tom Cruise. We liked it, too.
Both movies were free of cursing (maybe one or two mild expletives) and nudity (except for one bare bottom), but subject matter is not for children, in my opinion.
And now, I’m going to put my 6-year old to bed. Hooray.