Diary excerpt. New Jersey, my living room, my head, 2011:
Oh my god, I am so bored. My brain is useless.
“Vroom! Vroom! Crash!”
“Oh, my gosh! we’re sisters!”
I loathe you, Barbie. Bad parenting, right here.
Wow, she’s beautiful. My daughter is so beautiful. How did that happen? So innocent, it’s breaking my heart. Someone will break her heart one day. Parenting the the worst. Job. Ever. Helpless.
“Guys! No Fighting!”
They have no clue how much I love them. By the time they figure it out, I’ll be old. Really old.
I hate it here. I hate it here. I HATE it here. But the schools are great. The kids seem happy. Wouldn’t they be happier if I was happy?
Which example do I set? The one of selflessness or the one about being responsible for my own life, building my own happiness?
Moving is such a gamble. I hate gambling. Hate.
Did he just dance?
“Are you dancing? Awesome!”
He danced. He’s a goofy, talented, sweet genius, that boy! He’s so tender. so loving. I cannot believe how much I love him.
Poor guy is tired. Why doesn’t he sleep more? I’m a shitty parent. He needs more sleep.
My kids are s well behaved. I’m doing something right, but what? Everyone says I’m doing a good job. Which part am I good at? Not the yelling. I yell. Probably screwing them up.
I wish I had a maid/cook/nanny. Never mind. No nanny. I hate leaving them with someone else. I wish there were three of me. Then I’d get stuff done.
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
“It’s okay. You’re fine. Shhhhh....”
I’m so very lucky. I know that. Too lucky. I have so much to loose. It scares the shit out of me.
I need to live forever. I should call my mom. I miss my sister/brother/parents.
I wasn’t there enough for my nieces/nephews. I had no idea how hard it is to be a parent. I was so stupid.
“Rod Torque Redline is fine. No, he’s ok.”
“Can our Barbies do something besides go to a dance or move to NYC?”
“Yes, you have school tomorrow.”
“Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry.”
“You MADE this?”
She loves art! Yay!
“You made this? I love it!”
I have to teach him how to hold a crayon. I think he should know how to do that by now. He can tell jokes and remember everything I say but he can’t hold a crayon? WTF?
He’s only 3. He’s only 3.
If we go somewhere else, I’d have to homeschool. Homeschool is best anyway. But it would kill me. They’d hate me. I’m not equipped. I’d fail. Shit. Calculation and tough skin work in a corporate career, but not at home. I’d be militant. I’d be the worst of my parents.
“Because TV is bad for your brain.”
“Because candy isn’t good for your body.”
“Because it’s not nice.”
It would be nice to go out alone for dinner.
Somewhere else. Far. Maybe southern France.
Maybe we should move there. Why not?
Huh. I’ve lost/gained weight. Weird.
Look how tall my kids are. Growing up so fast. To fast. STOP GROWING up! Don’t grow away!
They’re amazing. My kids are amazing. I can’t believe how kind they are.
This is so beautiful, it hurts.
Some people think life is supposed to be more happy times than boring times; more delight than sorrow. As if there is a scale at the end of the road and if you don't end up with more amazing stories of laughter and fame and money that you somehow botched the whole thing up, did it wrong. But I know that's a lie. Life, by definition, just IS.