It's not you, it's me

A very long time ago a friend “broke up with me” by telling me they just didn’t have time for one more person in their life.  I’m not referring to an ex-boyfriend here; I’m simply referring to a girl I considered a friend.  From what I can tell, I was the last person she took on as a friend, and therefore I was the first one she let go.  I was horrified by this break up at the time; offended and hurt.  I didn’t understand how someone could be so callous and careless with my friendship and end it – POW – so abruptly and with virtually no explanation.  And, while I don’t exactly agree with how she went about it, I do – later in my life and with much more experience under my belt – understand the power that drove her to do it.

OK, dear reader, please bear with me.

On the surface, I seem like a pretty outgoing, gregarious, social-butterfly.  I do care deeply about people in general and therefore try very hard to make sure that I don’t offend anyone – at least on purpose.  I have no doubt that I have offended people in my life, but not with any purposeful intent to do so.  To the best of my ability, my manner around others is usually warm and friendly.  However, I am not really outgoing.  Not really gregarious.  (Ok – I might occasionally cop to the social-butterfly thing, but that tends to go along with the caring deeply about people in general thing.)  I love just about everyone I know, but I have very few close friends so I choose them very carefully.  I guess I’m kind of a conundrum.

Suffice it to say that should you find yourself in my inner circle, my true inner circle, you may feel free to feel quite blessed and special, as you wish.  If you find yourself outside of my inner circle, don’t understand me to mean that I don’t like and/or love you.  But, though we may have a wonderful relationship/friendship, there is always going to be something holding me back from truly letting you in.

It’s not you, it’s me.  

You see what I did there, right?

TTFN

JMS

Uh oh! I am in SO much trouble!

If you could see me right now, you’d see me shaking my head and (to hubby’s vexation) rolling my eyes.

My dear daughter is going to be the death of me.  With apologies to any gentleman readers I may be so lucky to have garnered, if I didn’t know she was seven years old, I would say she was fourteen and pre-menstrual.  All. The. Time.  

She’s so frustrating!  Everything is drama.  Everything is always wrong.  It seems she is always ticked off at someone for some imagined slight.  Every response is clipped and snotty.  “No” is her favorite word.  It doesn’t matter what we do, or don’t do, to incentivize her. Threatening her with loss of things she cares about (blankie, her stuffed dog, Cathy) doesn’t change anything; it just makes her madder.  Or, she’ll start to cry those big crocodile tears, turn red, and storm out of the room hollering, “FINE! I’LL JUST GO IN MY ROOM AND NEVER COME OUT AGAIN!”

Please tell me this ends soon, and I’m not in for another seven, eight, nine years of this stuff?  I might have to go jump off the nearest bridge.

As tough as she is when she’s awake, however, she is a dream (pun intended) at bedtime.  After the struggle of getting her ready for bed, once she is actually in bed she’s usually asleep in about 5 minutes. She’s always been this way.  By contrast, her brother, my dear son, is quite the opposite.

He’s much easier than she is (I’ve been told boys are easier than girls anyway – and so far, this is proving true in our household) but at night, he’s a nightmare (pun intended).  He either has nightmares and wakes up scared, or he can’t sleep; almost every single night.  Last night was no exception. I'd fallen into an exhausted sleep, but I was having a really terrible dream, so I was initially grateful to him when he woke me up with, “Mooo-om!  I can’t sleep!”  But actually, and unusually, I was somewhat scared myself (all I remember was that it was a doozy of a dream) and feeling like a chicken so I didn’t want to get out of bed.  “Come on in here, buddy!” I hollered at him.

And like lightning, he was at my side.  His little heart beating like hummingbirds wings.  Poor kid. So I tucked him in beside me and we snuggled for a bit.  I, drifting unfortunately back into a different, but equally stressful dream, and he, lying awake and staring at the ceiling.  Finally, “Mom?  Just let me know when you want me to go back to my room, OK?”

Me: Huh?

Him: Tell me when you want me to go back to my room.

Me: You want to go back?

Him: Yeah.

Me: OK – I’m coming.

I follow him into his room, tuck him back in, and go to the kitchen for a glass of water.  Great.  Now I’m awake.  He and I probably spent the rest of the night with one or the other (or both) of us awake. 

Unfortunately, this is a pretty consistent pattern with him.  He has never slept well.  So while he’s usually cheerful and a delight to be around during the day, he’s a pain in my butt at night.  And while she is becoming more and more troublesome during the day, she’s always been easy to deal with at night.  Don’t get me wrong, she is a very sweet and loving child (or has been, up until recently) but…SHEESH!

Is it any wonder that I a) LOVE coffee and b) sleep in as often as it is possible to do so?

Also, in case you’re wondering, Hubby is completely deaf in one ear.  So, if he’s sleeping on his good ear he hears none of this.  Ever.  So yes, the creatures I birthed are mine after dark.  (Hm…I guess this adds more credence to those friends who have always believed I was somewhat vampiric?)  Mwahahaha!!! 

TTFN
JMS