Drowning, Take Two

I am toeing my limit lately. I know that there are a few newer readers to this blog who are, um, of a previous generation, so allow me to apologize for the swearing that is to follow.

Explain to me how this is any kind of life.

A sample day: Up at 5:20. Leave the house at 6:15. At school on time around 7:15.

School: playing a rowdy review game with 80 teenagers, during which they get off on trying to confuse me (like "hey, you forgot to give us our points!" when I already had). All free time is spent planning for my biology class. Starving all goddamn day because of this pointless diet that's no longer working. Stalked via e-mail all fucking day by this woman who is putting on some festival at our school next weekend, and I am her liaison. Staff meeting right after school.

Home: pick up Sascha from my mother's, where she has been a perfect angel all day but starts being bratty as soon as we arrive. I take her to my sister's, where she expects to play on the swingset but we can't because it's nine fucking degrees outside. She melts down for ten minutes when I take her in the house.

*insert 45 good minutes of hanging out with my sister while kids play*

5 pm. Go home, plop Sascha in front of the TV, start dinner. Finish cooking just as the show ends. Eat.

6 pm. Before dinner is over, I leave them to make a run to the grocery store. I'm so tired there that I'm spacing out on things that are written right in front of me, on my list. I'm looking at the list blankly, like it's calculus. I buy four bottles of wine.

7 pm. The bedtime routine. Sascha's being sweet, then stubs her toe which sends her into an end-of-the-world tantrum. We try to wrestle her into the tub while she convulses and screams. This lasts well after we take her out, about 15 minutes. I'm reminded of some long-ago TV movie from the '70s about a retarded kid. I think there was a similar scene.

8 pm. Sascha's in bed, but the kitchen is full of dirty dishes, the dishwasher is full of clean ones, lunches need to be unpacked from today and repacked for tomorrow. Nick and I work in exhausted silence. I am also in the middle of running two loads of laundry. I get in bed to watch a show that starts at 9, but I'm asleep before it's over.

You always read how people say there's too much crap in their lives, how they're too busy, and the advice is always to let something go. But what? What? I'm not doing anything extra. Sascha isn't old enough to go to lessons or whatever. This is just existing. This is the bare minimum. Feeding, washing, clothing: simple maintenance. This is without a social life. And I didn't even work out today. A few times a week, I do that after school. AND I only have one kid. Of course, lately she's been having tantrums for two out of the three hours we're home. No joke. That'll wear you out on an easy day.

All I could think tonight while washing the dishes was, "in colleges around the country, there are women dreaming of this life." I know this, because I was. I wanted to be a wife and mother so badly I could taste it. How the hell did we get sold this bill of goods?

Today is the same: lather, rinse, repeat. Except!! Today I *get* to work out!! (because I have sooo much energy.) The only reason I'm able to blog right now is that my colleague gave me a video to show my biology class today. I've been so busy planning for that one stupid class that my paper-grading pile has been getting bigger and bigger. And that pile? Will be my weekend. I haven't even thought about what I'm going to teach on Monday.

I just don't know how anyone does it. I know people with my same job who have more than one kid. I don't think I'd last a week. And most people do this with a job that they leave at 5:00 instead 2:00. Granted, they have more downtime at their jobs, but they can't run laundry or chop vegetables in that downtime. And I would wager that most people's kids aren't the drama queen that mine is, requiring an exhausting and endless cycle of time-outs.

I can't think of what would make my life easier. Quitting the diet would be a start; takeout is much easier than the endless chopping of vegetables. I have already delegated most of my science team coaching duties. I still feel like I can't catch my breath. It's a good thing that my hair is finally long enough to put in a ponytail, even though it's still so skimpy that it resembles a thalidomide hand-- I don't care, it saves me 20 minutes in the morning.

Speaking of the diet: It's kind of a good news/bad news thing. I have lost weight, somewhere between 8-10 lbs depending on the day. I am definitely comfortable, which was my #1 goal. I'm still not at my pre-pregnancy weight, but I've at least lost what I call "ambient" weight-- that layer that covered my back, my thighs, my neck and chest, making me feel like the Michelin Man. My clothes fit! My skinny jeans are loose! That part is fabulous. I love that when I am putting on my bra, it no longer makes those moaning and straining noises like the Titanic did when it was sinking (in the movie). (You think that's a joke. It isn't.) But... I am still not where I want to be. I'm still a triple-D cup, just not as full. My stomach is still pretty big. I hate that the number on the scale matters, and it shouldn't, but it does. Dammit, it does. And I'm so close, but that number hasn't budged in a couple weeks. I'm seriously losing steam. It is not helping one bit that my life is not conducive to keeping up all this constant vegetable prep.

In short, I need: a housekeeper, a cook, and a weekly massage and mani/pedi. And toddler tranquilizers. (What?) And maybe a call girl for my poor husband since I never have the energy for those shenanigans either. (Sorry, Ma.) Then, I could definitely do this. Wow, I just realized I didn't list a nanny! I call that progress in my journey of motherhood.

And because this post isn't long or whiny enough, I'll finish with a Teacher of the Year story: this morning an administrator came to me to talk about one of my students. She's a very bright, likeable girl, but she misses my class every single day to sit in another room (she's in a program for kids with emotional issues; she goes there). Her friend comes to class every day to tell me she's not coming. Well one day I made an insensitive comment, like "Man, she needs to get over it already." I'm sorry, but it's fruststrating dealing with all of that make-up work, and I can't imagine being so distraught every single day that you can't sit in class, unless your family was murdered or something (hers wasn't). Lo and behold, the girl gets wind of this, and now I'm told to expect a phone call from her mother. Lovely. Aaaaand, now the girl doesn't want to come back to my class, ever, and wants to switch teachers. Oh, I rule the world. To be honest, I kind of want to yell at her mother for ruining her kid in the first place, but you know, there's that little thing about glass houses...