A Good Day

Life is messy, dirty, sticky and smelly. Life is pain and sadness. Life is hard.
There are some days I don't even want to leave my bed. There are some days that I don't. It's not that I don't want to. It's just that, some days, waking up is like trying to swim up from the bottom of the ocean without any breathing equipment. The closer I get to that bright light at the surface, the more suffocated I feel.
Up there, somewhere, I hear my kids screaming at each other. About who had more cereal, who drank all the milk, who's day it is to do the dishes. I know I have to wake up sometime and deal with it. But how can I get up and get out of bed if I can't even wake up? How can I get out of this mess? I can't.
Anything I do would make me look like a bad mother. The guilt presses me down, into the mattress. I pull the blanket a little higher over my head and pretend I can't hear them fighting. Who am I to think I can do this? Who am I to think I can be a good parent? This isn't something I planned for or asked for, way back when I was still of the age to make plans for my future. Back when my peers were planning college or careers. I just happened into it because there was no other option for me. I guess in the beginning I told myself that, since it was my only option, I would do a better job than any of my peers. Instead of shoving my children out the door each morning and rushing them off to a school with no educational worth, I kept them home. Instead of doping up my son and teaching him how to be a drug addict as a small child, I chose to change his diet, his activities, and remove him from situations where his ADHD was aggravated.

It's so hard to open my eyes. The kids are taking advantage of all this. They will until they realize that I really can't wake up. Then they'll get quiet. They'll get even quiter when they realize I'm crying. Things will get put away, dishes will get washed, books will be brought out. Then one of the girls will, in a gentle voice, ask me to read her lesson to her. I'll drag myself up, and with bleary eyes and a runny nose, I'll read the lesson. I'll explain what to do, point out mistakes and encourage a reworking of a math problem or a spelling check. I'll listen while my son reads out loud from his history lesson and help him with the proper pronunciation of difficult words. Then, sometime around lunch, I'll drag myself out of bed and wash up. I'll get dressed then watch over the kids while they water paint or draw. I'll gripe about the open peanut butter and jelly jars and bread crumbs everywhere.
In the late afternoon they'll go outside to play, or if the weather is bad, they'll turn the t.v. on and watch cartoons or kid shows. I can only handle so much kiddie programming before I put on my big headphones and listen to music on my laptop. A day like any other day around here.

Tomorrow I may have no problem waking up at all. Tomorrow I may wake up early and cook pancakes for breakfast. I may take a cup of coffee outside and sit at the picnic table while the kids eat their breakfast. If I do, I'll call it a good day.
Maybe it will be a good day. I never know what to expect from one day to the next. I don't think any parent with depression does. Some days are good, some are bad. Some days just are what they are. I walk through them as best I can and sometimes I stumble. Sometimes I fall flat on my face, although those days are few and far between.
I comfort myself with the fact that I am not alone. I am not the only parent out there who struggles every day with kids, depression and loneliness. I am not the only one who doubts herself whenever one of the kids blurts out something inappropriate or embarrassing in a crowded grocery store. I am not the only mom who wonders if having kids ruined any chance at ever having a sex life again. I know it because I see it in the eyes of every other mother I meet. I see the pain, the sadness, the loneliness.
But there is something else there, too. Hope.
Hope that one day the kids will be grown and somehow you'll put things back together.
I see this in the eyes of moms who stay home and moms who work.
I see it in the eyes of moms who race around taking care of everything and everyone, and moms who hire other people to do it for them.

We're in Limbo. We're waiting. And while we wait, it isn't all bad. There are the crayon pictures made just for us by children who consider us to be their entire world. There are the quiet moments when no one is whining, nothing is spilled, the phone isn't ringing and there are no appointments to keep. There are the days that the pantry is full, the bills are paid, and dinner is already done and just waiting for everyone to sit down at table. There are the days that the line at the coffee shop is short and your favorite magazine or book is in stock.

These are the days we cherish. These are the days we look forward to, the ones we can sigh and say it's a good day.

Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be one of those days.
One can only Hope.

Code Name MOM

Welcome to this mom's blog.
Life is good. I spend all day raising kids, but I'm secretly a writer. I steal moments here and there, when no one is looking, and write everything that I can. Good stuff, bad stuff and that stuff that is relevant to life. It's cathartic to say the least. It keeps me sane. So I decided to publish a blog and share what I've written with the world. Don't get your hopes up though, my code name may be MOM but that doesn't mean I'm a superhero spy for the MOM inc. My writing won't save the world, but, hopefully, I just may change someones life for the better.