I've got it now,
a thorn in my side the size of a Cadillac. Drive it through, cause backin' up now would be next to impossible.
even with only 26 days left, the funk still rears its ugly head and thumps me on the noggin like some lowbrowed thug attempting to steal my wallet.
i awoke to screaming and crying. nos. 1 and 2 fighting over the same green-plastic gun.
the skies are gray, the kids are grumpy, i am tired, the house is a mess. the day looms ahead like a barren stretch of potholed road, empty, mind-numbing, soul-crushing.
i force myself to clean as the kids keep up the neverending litany of "games food drink" over and over, parrots on crack, attempting to obliterate the tiny shreds of my sanity hiding in the corners like refugees driven from their home. i don't even have the energy to attempt at retaliating with odes to the virtues of music.
gravity pulls harder. remaining upright is a battle. i would sleep, but the mound of clean clothes in need of folding completely occupies the couch, and laying down in another room is simply asking no. 2 to get his hair glue (for hawking his hair up) down and spray it on my guitars again.
i drink too much coffee, and get the jitters. i shuffle back and forth between dishes and the clothes and the vacuum.
i set the timer for the video games. "when this goes off, what happens?"
"it's time to put the games away."
"that's right."
but instead, it is time to say, "i'm not done." then: "but i am still not done." then: "no daddy daddy i don't want you to put the games up! no, i don't want the games put up. I DON'T WANT YOU TO PUT THE GAMES UP!!!" (if he had a working knowledge of swear words, the last shrieked sentence would be riddled with words found quite frequently within this blog.)
the games get put up. the shrieking and throwing of things shifts to a bedroom. i sit, defeated, exhausted, lost, alone.
as the tantrum settles, i sit with no. 1 and attempt to get him to understand why the games have been put up and what kind of behavior is necessary to ensure the safe return of the console:
"what is it that you need to do to be able to play games?"
he looks at me, deadly serious, bottom lip aquiver, eyes wide, wet, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and his black eyes stare deep into my own honey ones, and he says:
"is a pwivwidge, daddy."
i smile. the fog lifts. energy rushes to my limbs. the cowering bits of my brain peek out from their hiding places and venture forth, emboldened. i shake off the doldrums like a layer of dust.
shortly thereafter, no. 1 returns to his tantrum, having decided that calmly listening to what i have to say is counterproductive, but the change has already been effectuated within my tired self.
it is extended by a well-timed im from a new acquaintance (that i honestly thought would never talk to me again after some of the things i said last time), and a wonderful conversation.
no. 2 walks up, out of the blue, looks at me, smiles his smirky mischeivious smile, and says, "my wuv you, daddy."
i am still exhausted. as far as i can tell i am, barring two rambunctious and sleep-deprived headstrong punk kids, still alone. the skies are still gray. the only thing that has physically changed is the house is clean.
but the funk is gone, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, driven straight out by such simple things as these frozen moments of meaning and happiness.
darth sardonic
even with only 26 days left, the funk still rears its ugly head and thumps me on the noggin like some lowbrowed thug attempting to steal my wallet.
i awoke to screaming and crying. nos. 1 and 2 fighting over the same green-plastic gun.
the skies are gray, the kids are grumpy, i am tired, the house is a mess. the day looms ahead like a barren stretch of potholed road, empty, mind-numbing, soul-crushing.
i force myself to clean as the kids keep up the neverending litany of "games food drink" over and over, parrots on crack, attempting to obliterate the tiny shreds of my sanity hiding in the corners like refugees driven from their home. i don't even have the energy to attempt at retaliating with odes to the virtues of music.
gravity pulls harder. remaining upright is a battle. i would sleep, but the mound of clean clothes in need of folding completely occupies the couch, and laying down in another room is simply asking no. 2 to get his hair glue (for hawking his hair up) down and spray it on my guitars again.
i drink too much coffee, and get the jitters. i shuffle back and forth between dishes and the clothes and the vacuum.
i set the timer for the video games. "when this goes off, what happens?"
"it's time to put the games away."
"that's right."
but instead, it is time to say, "i'm not done." then: "but i am still not done." then: "no daddy daddy i don't want you to put the games up! no, i don't want the games put up. I DON'T WANT YOU TO PUT THE GAMES UP!!!" (if he had a working knowledge of swear words, the last shrieked sentence would be riddled with words found quite frequently within this blog.)
the games get put up. the shrieking and throwing of things shifts to a bedroom. i sit, defeated, exhausted, lost, alone.
as the tantrum settles, i sit with no. 1 and attempt to get him to understand why the games have been put up and what kind of behavior is necessary to ensure the safe return of the console:
"what is it that you need to do to be able to play games?"
he looks at me, deadly serious, bottom lip aquiver, eyes wide, wet, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and his black eyes stare deep into my own honey ones, and he says:
"is a pwivwidge, daddy."
i smile. the fog lifts. energy rushes to my limbs. the cowering bits of my brain peek out from their hiding places and venture forth, emboldened. i shake off the doldrums like a layer of dust.
shortly thereafter, no. 1 returns to his tantrum, having decided that calmly listening to what i have to say is counterproductive, but the change has already been effectuated within my tired self.
it is extended by a well-timed im from a new acquaintance (that i honestly thought would never talk to me again after some of the things i said last time), and a wonderful conversation.
no. 2 walks up, out of the blue, looks at me, smiles his smirky mischeivious smile, and says, "my wuv you, daddy."
i am still exhausted. as far as i can tell i am, barring two rambunctious and sleep-deprived headstrong punk kids, still alone. the skies are still gray. the only thing that has physically changed is the house is clean.
but the funk is gone, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, driven straight out by such simple things as these frozen moments of meaning and happiness.
darth sardonic
Labels: alkaline trio, emptyness, my cool kids, the funk
posted by darth sardonic at 3:57 PM
4 Comments:
Isn't it uncanny how they can drain your blood one minute and revive you with that baby "wuv" the next? I can sooooo relate.
TRUTH! You have written truth. There does not exist a parent who has not had that day.
"it's a pwivwidge." I am still smiling.
I am so glad I played hooky and came over to visit. I am knee deep in terrorists research and finishing two huge papers before the friday deadline. It is not a happy subject.
Now I feel energized, thanks boys - all three of you.
I knew there was a reason for people to have children. Just didn't know what it was till now. Thanks. :)
Awww Darth, this post really spoke to me. You are doing a great job!
Post a Comment
<< Home