I hate weekends. Summer is going to suuuuuck. Things you don’t usually hear and never hear from my 5 year old. In normal two-parent households the weekends stretch before them full of schedule free days and extra hands; opportunities at free time are a shining possibility. They stretch before me slightly differently: 48 unscheduled hours that are full of nothing but my two blessings. They serve to remind me that reinforcements are not coming- at least not for a very very very long time. And yes I am 100% aware that I was part of this decision for the husband to take this job. But that does not make this easy. In the immortal words of Michael Scott, “Please allow me to have one cathartic experience in my life.”
I have really good days. Days where I feel like I have this “single” parenting thing down. Where I feel like supermom. Today I had to pee for 5 hours straight but between soccer, groceries, crying nursing babies, etc it was the last priority. Today M was screaming in the mother of all target carts at the check out where I had forgotten my debit card and the people around me look at me as if I am failing as a parent. Today I snapped at C when he asked the same question about getting an icee 8 times. Today was a bad day.
When the kids go to bed tonight I know that I will have 1-2 hours of “me time” to choose between studying statistics, finishing my grad school application ( whose idea was this to go back to school? Mine? What an idiot) showering or sleeping. I hate to tell you, friends, sleeping almost always wins out over showering.
In August I will get a whole month of weekends and more help than I know what to do with. But right now I just cling to the idea that tomorrow will be better, it has to be a good day. And even if it’s not at least there will be a handful of sleep filled hours in between.