The hard truth.

I'm not gonna lie.  Sometimes I feel bad for my kids.  Because of me.  Sometimes I just don't like being the mom.  Let's clarify.  I wouldn't trade my life.  Really.  But, wow, I just wanna throw in my chips and get outta Dodge for awhile.  Alone.  Where I can leisurely walk wherever I need to go, where I can eat or sleep or read or think or be silent, just because.

I realize how growth-inhibiting and self-centered this would be if all I ever needed to do was...WHATEVER I WANTED TO DO.  I know that's not what life's about, but for a few hours, a few days even, heck, I'll take it.  With a big ol' smile on my face.  In other words, guilt-free.  Then...it would probably get old and I'd be yearning for my little ones again.  (Because I'm certain of the truth that our greatest happiness is found by losing ourselves and helping others.  As Gandhi would say, "Reducing yourself to zero." I believe that, I KNOW that.)

I used to think I was indulgent, imaginative, that I could go along with the fantasies of my kids all in good fun.  I love fantasy-talk, I'm intrigued by fantasy-talk, but I've realized that I can only fantasize so long.  

It's hard to keep up the charade day in and day out, because, truthfully, it takes A LOT of thought to come up with a wild enough response to SATISFY a fantasy-talker (do you have one?).  My brain hurts thinking up acceptable answers!  And when my brain hurts, something happens to my mouth and I say things I wouldn't normally say, implying to my kids that they're annoying me or they're ridiculous or bothersome.  I can't bear  thinking that I make my kids feel that way (even if they are, at that moment, annoying or ridiculous), especially when they're so guileless in the asking.

They honestly--desperately even--want to know what I would do if this or that cataclysmic event happened, or if they had such and such a superpower, or if our car rolled one hundred times and we didn't have our seat belts on and the cops didn't care, and, and...you get my drift.

Rereading the last few paragraphs makes me laugh.  It's something I never would have imagined having issues with.  Fantasy-talk?  Really?  I know you're thinking it could be worse, and I know it could be, but it's more than just an annoyance with fantasy-talk.  There's a bigger picture here.

I shape my kids.  How I respond to them, talk to them, look at them, all affects the person they're becoming.   The person they see themselves as being.  So really, how I respond to the "fantasy-talker" (isn't that funny?) makes a difference.  It reflects back on them.  I'm not doing a very good job these days.

I'm hoping this is just a glimmer of a moment in their little lives.  Just a memory that will quickly fade away, replaced by happy, good times and an over-encouraging mother...who's returned  to Dodge a new woman.  I'm thinking my escape from Dodge might have to be more of the figurative variety, like my bedroom with a book for an hour or two or three :).  I can't necessarily pack up and head out right now.  School's about to start!  The realities are never too far away, are they?