April 23, 2011

(written a couple days ago and edited for a lot of really bad words. A few less-than-horrible ones were left in)

I guess this is where I am now.

I guess this is what is going to take me down.

This isn’t going to make much sense to anyone outside of a few close people. Those it happened to and those who I actually told the truth to about it all.

And the rest of you … the rest of you couldn’t care less.

But this is what I’ve come to. A blubbering mess on Easter-eve. My mascara is smeared across my face. I have breakouts that I’ve caused after I picked at my face over the past few days and I’m pretty sure will now lead to bigger problems. Probably scarring and cold sores by the morning, with the way things are going.

Here I am. Bawling. Sobbing my head off when I should be sneaking out to the car to get the Easter stash that is hidden in the secret trunk compartment. I can’t move. I am sick. I swear to you that as I type this I can barely breathe. Every single time I think I have my shit together my chin quivers and my eyes fill up again.

***

Tonight, Eli threw a trash can across the floor when I sent him to bed for not listening.

I am such a shit.

It’s Easter. The kids were supposed to go to bed all excited about the Easter Bunny coming and I suck. I blew it. My one damn job I should’ve done today and I blew it.

He threw the trash can across the floor and said “you’re the worst mom. I hate you. I hate you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said this to me.

It might not even be the first time today.

And it won’t be the last. Unfortunately.

I know I suck. But he wouldn’t listen. I told him to stop throwing things FIVE TIMES.

And then I flipped out. Yelled. Sent them all to bed.

And he retaliated with his words and then the trash can. And I probably deserved it.

I’m a wreck. My nerves are shot. I feel like I could throw up on myself at any moment.

I have felt like this

All.

Day.

Long.

For weeks, really.

And, for good measure and because I felt like such shit, I made sure I went back into the bedroom to make sure they knew they couldn’t talk to me that way and then I told them each that I love them and that I hope the Easter Bunny still comes to visit even though he or she wouldn’t be happy to hear of kids who disobey their mom and tell her they hate her.

You know. Remind him of what he said while he’s still lying there sobbing. Again, for good measure.

I’m such a great mom.

I shut the door. Go back to the living room and start to read my book. Then, here he comes to give me a hug. He tells me he’s sorry.

I pull him onto my lap and lose it.

I bury my face into his neck.

Bawling, I tell him I’m sorry for being a bad mom. Tell him I wish he didn’t hate me. Tell him I’m trying so hard to do better.

He’s crying now. I pull away. We look at each other. He shakes his head no. And then, in a soft whisper that almost made it impossible to hear, he says, “You’re not a bad mom. I don’t hate you.”

As I cry harder, he reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek.

Swear to God the kid wiped a tear from my right cheek.

And then I lose it all over again.

We hugged for what felt like many minutes. And then there was a noise outside. Sounded like a huge truck. Maybe a moving van? Then it stopped.

I whispered, without pulling my head away from his, “Oh, God. I think it’s a UFO.”

Then we both heard a door open and close.

“And crap. I think the door just opened.”

With that, he laughed and so did I. We pulled away, each other’s tears on each other’s cheeks. And then we heard it.

Voices.

Aliens.

Real ones.

I mean, for real. REAL freakin’ aliens.

Timing was perfect, yo.

Then Little Man comes running out of the bedroom and hops up on my lap too. So then we call out Grant to join us. And then?

Then we hunted for the Easter Bunny.

All four of us. It’s dark, and here we are outside on the patio hushing each other, crouching down, looking for the Easter Bunny.

And all we see are what we truly believe are aliens.

After hunting ends with no fresh bunny, it’s back to bed for the kiddos, and back to the living room for me.

And here I am. Losing it again. You see, this is just not good. And it seems to be hitting me all at once.

I am here because of choices I made.

I am about to play Easter Bunny alone. For the first time in more than a decade. I am going to fill and hide eggs alone.

I have to be the Easter Bunny and I can’t move from this chair.

My head is pounding and my fingers are tingling and my face is soaked in tears and my lungs can’t get enough air.

I am here because of choices I made.

I keep telling myself that and I know it’s true and I know that someday I’ll be OK but right now I am not and I can’t help but wonder what the hell is going on …

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