By: Wendy S. Marcus
Do you ever think about leaving? About packing up and moving into your very own condo? Where everything will be exactly where it should be? Where empty boxes won’t be left in the pantry or freezer leading you to believe they still hold food? Where that beautiful almost-ripe banana you’d planned to have with lunch will be right there waiting for you? Where there will always be toilet paper at the ready because you wouldn’t think of leaving an empty cardboard tube and no refill within reach? Where when you talk (to yourself) you listen and actually do what needs to be done – because you’re the only one there to do it? Where you can work – without interruption – for as long as you want and not worry about cooking dinner or doing laundry or transporting children or writing notes/checks or nagging children to study or listening to complaints about the heat, mean teachers or stomach ailments? Where you don’t walk in on your son playing Xbox after you’d specifically told him NO XBOX UNTIL AFTER FINAL EXAMS and then get into an argument where you are forced to remind him (at the top of your lungs) that he didn’t listen to your nagging prior to his physics mid-term or his SATs and did not do as well as he could have on either? Where you don’t have to fight with your daughter ABOUT EVERY-FREAKIN-THING?
That’s where I am right now….one step away from hunting down the real estate listings in the local newspaper.
I won’t go through with it, of course. But it’s a nice dream. A home of my own where I can blast Carrie Underwood, eat salad every night if I want to, and never feel obligated to bathe.
I love my family. Very much. But boy do I need a vacation – from them.
Two more weeks and I’ll have one – well kind of. In two weeks I’ll be meeting up with Jen and Aimee for the RWA – Romance Writers of America – annual conference in NYC. (And we’ll be drunk dialing Regina (make sure you give us your phone number Regina!)) I am having a hard time containing my excitement.
So what do you do when you’ve had enough? When you are a tired mommy on the verge of losing it? When you’ve taken all you can tolerate and even the tiniest infraction sets you off on a tirade of epic proportions? When you’re teetering on the brink of screaming, “I don’t want to do this anymore?” (Or am I the only one who’s ever felt like that?)
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