everything sucks
my 5 year old son needed a dental procedure that required sedation today, and because it takes a while to coordinate the dentist's schedule with the anesthesiologist, i spent 3 months staving off the panic that comes with wondering if you've made a decision for your child that will render him brain dead. i worried and cried about it, dancing with the fear endlessly. it was made worse because i was going to have to drive home with my ex that i maintain as little contact with as possible. someone needed to be in the back seat with my son, and since my entire existence is about being in the background as a faceless support system, that was me.
after carrying my semi-conscious, whiney little boy up the steps and struggling for several minutes to get the key in the lock of my front door while supporting his lolling head - in full view of my ex watching dispassionately from his heated car in my driveway, motionless - we get inside. i lay him on the couch and commence enjoying 2 solid hours of confused crying, random hostility, restlessness and tooth pain from my son who's acting like a belligerent drunk demanding the return of his car keys. i feed him ice pops and rub his head soothingly while trying to swallow the rising frustration i'm feeling as my website crashes and burns, for the third time this month. i frantically text the person who assures me he will help though i am aware i am a burden, inconvenient and a pathetic number 50 on his to-do list. my attempts to fix the problems make everything worse, as my attempts usually do, my brain is quick to remind me.
i pour children's tylenol in a tiny cup and stay in the bathroom a minute longer, wondering if i would break the mirror if i smashed the medicine cabinet with my fist. "what's taking so long?" comes the screech from the couch, a voice filled with tears. if i could speak i would sound the same way, so i don't.
the website is a stupid basket for all of my eggs. if i had a job, or a social life, or disposable income to take to the horse track there wouldn't be so much pressure on it, but i don't, so there is. if i was surrounded by hordes of people i could turn to for help i wouldn't have to lean so totally and frantically on the 1 or 2 i can solicit, but i'm not so i do. i hate how alone and brittle i am, and i hate that i see it and know it and live it every minute. i wish there was a vodka bottle big enough to house my entire body.
television, fluids and TLC do their respective jobs, and soon my son is running around the kitchen as i wash dishes, checking my phone for bad news about my site, or worse, unanswered emails and texts. he leans against my leg and asks if i'm crying. i don't know how to answer him.
the doorbell rings and he grabs his coat, i ask for a hug as i zip it up. he says no. the past hours of curling on my lap and crying on my shoulder are a distant memory, and maybe not even that. he is 5. he doesn't like hugs. i tell him i could really use one but he gets impatient and pushes me away, opening the door to run to his dad and the beginning of party time. it closes behind him and takes the sunlight with it, leaving me in the quiet dark of the empty house.
after carrying my semi-conscious, whiney little boy up the steps and struggling for several minutes to get the key in the lock of my front door while supporting his lolling head - in full view of my ex watching dispassionately from his heated car in my driveway, motionless - we get inside. i lay him on the couch and commence enjoying 2 solid hours of confused crying, random hostility, restlessness and tooth pain from my son who's acting like a belligerent drunk demanding the return of his car keys. i feed him ice pops and rub his head soothingly while trying to swallow the rising frustration i'm feeling as my website crashes and burns, for the third time this month. i frantically text the person who assures me he will help though i am aware i am a burden, inconvenient and a pathetic number 50 on his to-do list. my attempts to fix the problems make everything worse, as my attempts usually do, my brain is quick to remind me.
i pour children's tylenol in a tiny cup and stay in the bathroom a minute longer, wondering if i would break the mirror if i smashed the medicine cabinet with my fist. "what's taking so long?" comes the screech from the couch, a voice filled with tears. if i could speak i would sound the same way, so i don't.
the website is a stupid basket for all of my eggs. if i had a job, or a social life, or disposable income to take to the horse track there wouldn't be so much pressure on it, but i don't, so there is. if i was surrounded by hordes of people i could turn to for help i wouldn't have to lean so totally and frantically on the 1 or 2 i can solicit, but i'm not so i do. i hate how alone and brittle i am, and i hate that i see it and know it and live it every minute. i wish there was a vodka bottle big enough to house my entire body.
television, fluids and TLC do their respective jobs, and soon my son is running around the kitchen as i wash dishes, checking my phone for bad news about my site, or worse, unanswered emails and texts. he leans against my leg and asks if i'm crying. i don't know how to answer him.
the doorbell rings and he grabs his coat, i ask for a hug as i zip it up. he says no. the past hours of curling on my lap and crying on my shoulder are a distant memory, and maybe not even that. he is 5. he doesn't like hugs. i tell him i could really use one but he gets impatient and pushes me away, opening the door to run to his dad and the beginning of party time. it closes behind him and takes the sunlight with it, leaving me in the quiet dark of the empty house.
Replies
It seems as if often, women do the dirty work, the hard labor, the blood, sweat and tears, and then reap the reward of lonely abandonment when the toils are done.
That is another beauitfully-written piece, vern. I\'ve been a member of top-notch writer\'s group for years, and I think you outshine all the excellent writers in it. Have you ever considered an MFA in Creative Writing?
oh thank you kris and thanks for the wonderful compliments....you know now that you say it a MFA in creative writing sounds wonderful, like, just the journey sounds like it would be awesome. i have studied writing but no, not an MFA but now you have me thinking about it. i like your writing as well, and i have never been in a writing group, that sounds interesting (and intimidating) but mostly interesting.
Well, here\'s the Holy Grail, vernacular: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iowa_Writers\'_Workshop
But there are other good ones, too. I applied to the MFA in Creative Writing at Ohio State and didn\'t get in.The good programs are extremely competitiive.
Just a thought.
This is all so familiar to me. (Except that my kids cling to me and can\'t stand their father, but they are older and can see what he is.) I remember standing in the waiting room of the ear nose and throat specialist with my first baby violently crying in my arms and throwing his weight all around from the pain. It was all I could do to hold him. Dear Dad was standing there also, close enough to touch us (had he actually wanted to), fully engrossed in an outdated edition of The Economist. After a few minutes of that, I yelled at him that if we are not actually on his radar screen when we\'re right next to him, he should please just leave! Ugh. And he tries to show the world what a caring involved father he is. The kids and I know better, but most people buy his pathetic little act.
ech what a jackass! my son worships my ex like a hero, i hope desperately he changes his mind yet fear the terrible experiences that will burst his bubble. i hate that these guys have any access to our children, it\'s like enrolling them in that spooky murder sleep away camp from horror movies and just dropping them off.