Cereal Killer

I’ve had one of those weeks where you sort of feel like a really bad traveling carnival — the kids look at you and think you should be fun, but when in comes down to it, you’re actually just a  bunch of thinly spread out rides that need paint, could breakdown at any moment, and are run by a group of drunken carnies who think kids are cute one minute and annoying the next. I think one of my problems (among many, too numerous to list here) is that I’ve been spending way too much time with the kids. That, plus the fact that my son hit me squarely in the head with a wiffle ball during batting practice. And then, when I was trying to take a little rest, both kids decided it was the perfect time to intermittently show me all of their toys, drawings, books, clothes, injuries, and personal skill accomplishments — one about every three minutes. Just enough time to sort of dose off and then be woken up again. I’ve always said they could’ve used kids for torture at Guantanamo.

The other problem — we seem to be trapped in some massive, karmic downswing. To be frank, I was wondering when this would happen because we were livin’ the sweet life for a good, long while. Life was cruising along pretty well for quite a few years (she says, with her chronic pain condition and child who kinda sorta had autism and now doesn’t). But seriously, things were relatively good. Next thing you know, my mom dies, my husband loses his job, we’re trapped under a crushing mortgage, he’s stuck doing paperwork instead of seeing patients, and I’m looking at my life and wondering how I ended up as a smart, educated 40-year-old with absolutely no way of making a decent living. And I wonder why I’m having anxiety attacks.

Still, when my friends who just adopted a one-year-old boy and newborn baby girl called, I had a tough time complaining. After all, they’re in the throws of commando parenting — that time when you’re grateful to just make it through an hour, let alone a day (although with a baby, figuring out when the day stops and starts is always tricky). Both the kids had been sick, and my friends were wondering how the biological parents (who don’t really have the ability to take care of themselves, let alone the kids) ever could’ve dealt with staying up all night, sleeping in a bathroom filled with steam, and running to the store at five in the morning. Would they have let the kids just cry? Or shut them in the closet? Or worse?

I can remember having those exact thoughts when I was completely on the brink with my kids (actually, I had the thoughts after the fact, when the crisis was over and I’d shrunk back down from the green, giant she-hulk to my normal human form). What if I’d been less educated or patient or prepared? What if I hadn’t had my family around to help? What if we were struggling financially? When you see yourself freaking out — exhausted, irritated, alone — and those feelings of frustration and anger start welling up, suddenly you stop wondering how terrible things end up happening to children.

When my son was about six months old, I was in the grocery store behind a woman with three young children — one was a baby. She looked so tired. Actually, she looked how I felt. When she left, I realized the bagger had forgotten to pack her box of baby rice cereal. It was way too late to catch her by the time anyone noticed.

I actually cried all the way home because I was so upset. All I could think was that the main reason she dragged everyone out that evening was rice cereal. She was probably a single mom who worked all day, absolutely needed to go to the store, and now that frickin’ teenager had made her life a living hell by forgetting to bag her baby’s dinner. Because if I was this tired, she had to be exhausted. And if I’d had to come back for rice cereal, I think I would’ve lost my marbles.

So I’m trying to look back and remember that there were plenty of other times when I did have to “go back for the rice cereal.” And incredibly, I still managed to keep all of my marbles (or at least a good number of them). And while there were also plenty of times when I thought I’d never get through those days, ultimately I did. So I’m banking on the theory of past performance being the best predictor of future events and going with the assumption that I’ll be getting through this rough patch as well.

The reluctant-optimist, partly sunny half of me believes that at some point, the carnival will pack up and move on. So hopefully the karma carnies are almost done with me. Because this is a ride I’m more than ready to get off.