So this is why I’m insane. Actually, make that part of why I’m insane. Telling the whole story would take way too long.
Yesterday I went skiing with the family and some friends. It was lovely — warmish, mostly rock-free, and not very crowded (most of the Californians were already sitting in traffic on their way back over the mountain). But I almost didn’t go — lately I’ve been feeling like I’ve been freight trained by a bull (which, as I learned from watching Stir Crazy as a kid, is particularly bad because bulls always back up and finish the job).
When I woke up, I had to give myself a better than average pep talk to get going. Tenzin, my husband, knows how badly I’m doing. He also knows I have about the same muscle mass as a two-day-old kitten. So we agreed that I’d take it easy. Which was a nice idea, in theory…
The problem with that kind of plan is always the kids. See, at one point, I was all set to call it a day and let everybody else take another run, but I knew if I went back to the car, Elfie, the 8-year-old, would “die.” She was already on the verge of throwing in the towel.
One thing I’ve figured out about my kids is that they’re pretty wimpy. Sadly, I’m sure they get this from me. I’m sure it’s a learned behavior because they see how pathetic I am. What bums me out is that for all intents and purposes, I’m really not a wimp. I only play one on the outside…
What my kids see a lot of is me sleeping in. Or lying on the couch. Or letting Tenzin take over because I’m too tired.
What they don’t see is how I have to force myself to get through every day — every moment sometimes — because I feel so, so bad. They don’t see me literally (and I’m using that word correctly here) wishing I could rip my head off while I’m sitting at Muay Thai lessons or school meetings or even on their beds while they read to me. They don’t see me buck up, get everybody ready in the morning, and go skiing.
They just see me quit. Or, at least that’s what I’m afraid they remember.
So I bucked up. Again. And I did another run. And now, as usual, I’m paying (yeah, I know — cry me a frickin’ river).
When I hear mothers say they’d throw themselves in front of a bus for their kids, I always wonder if I’d do that sort of thing. I have ridiculously slow reactions and have been known to just watch horrible stuff happen in a stunned state of immobility. Let’s just say you probably wouldn’t want me around during a bridge collapse or anything related to a Spiderman movie.
But I have my own buses coming at me every day. And I’m doing my best to throw myself in front of them.
It’s just that there’s no one there to see me do it.