Weary

I'm tired. Tired of the holidays. Tired of the mess from Christmas. Tired of being a mom. We've all felt this way, I know. This weariness is the curse of being a mother. I love my children but, please, I wish they would go AWAY for a little while.

My son has been exceedingly whiny over the last few days; yesterday I literally dragged him along from room to room as he fussed and whined while holding onto my shirt or leg. He is not ill and has no obvious excuse for his crankiness, he just is needy. Nothing could soothe him; nothing, that is, except 115% of my attention and time. I just don't have it in me to give him that. I just didn't want to. If that makes me a crappy parent, label me. I just don't care.

My daughter is out of school for Christmas break and that is a blessing and a curse in itself. When she is engaged, she is a gigantic help with the baby. He adores her and she him. But when she is done, that's it. Coupled with new distractions like a Nintendo DS, a new Webkinz and neighborhood friends she is nonexistent much of the time. Oh, unless she needs fed, clothed or has a catastrophe that requires all of me at a moment's notice.

I just would like to sleep until I'm ready to get up; not when they are. I want to eat food that I like not stuff that they will. I want to watch Saving Grace in the middle of the day despite the fact that Holly Hunter's character swears like a longshoreman. I want to nap and take long baths, not showers at the speed of light.

I'm feeling selfish and a little raw. I feel like saying "screw all of you" and taking a long drive to nowhere. Not forever just for a while. Just until I want to.

But I won't.

And even if I did, I would feel really bad and even miss the little life-sucking monsters. 'Cause they're cute. And they're mine.