Mom called…

…again.

The first call was this morning. It’s our daily just-checking-in-to-let-you-know-I-woke-up-today call. It usually involves Mom grilling me on my schedule for the day. Sometimes I feel like she’s checking for chinks in it to see if she can insert herself.

So I carried on with my (boring) day. Laundry…always laundry…cleaning, scrubbing, dishes, blah blah blah. Sometimes I feel I could spend every waking moment doing that stuff and still never catch up.

The phone rings. I’m scrubbing the toilet. It’s Mom. I ignore it.

She HATES that. But I do it in the interest of maintaining my sanity.

If she’s having an emergency, she’ll tell me.

“Where ARE you?” she crows cheerfully (thanks, Lexapro!) into my answering machine. “In the basement? Doing laundry? Give me a call back.”

Ummmm…WHY? So you can parrot the Fox News headlines to me? No, thanks.

Fast forward an hour and a half and two loads of laundry later. Phone rings. Mom.

Ugh. I roll my eyes and pick it up. “Hello?”

“You never called me back. What were you doing?”

“Ummm…laundry, dishes, sweeping, cleaning the bathroom…”

“So you just didn’t want to call me back.”

Yeah. Pretty much.

“You have to admit, Mom, we spend a lot of time on the phone with you watching Fox News,” (and me on Twitter, but that’s neither here nor there) I said in my defense.

“Well, I’m not watching it NOW,” she huffs.

Eventually she gets to the point of her phone call. She needs some tax documents sent to her tax guy. Apparently she was hoping I could drive them over.

I plug the address into Google maps. It’s an hour’s drive. Each way.

“Can’t you just mail them?” I plead.

“Well, they would all need to be photocopied first,” she replies.

You mean I’LL need to photocopy them and mail them. Like I don’t have enough to do.

Actually, Mom hasn’t been too bad lately. She’s been staying healthy (-ish) and I really don’t have anything to complain about. I know I’m lucky to have her. I’m just crabby.

*sigh* At least I’m not driving to the opposite side of the city.

UPDATE: Got some interesting responses on Twitter:

I’m so Fried-day

Crazy week this week. Today was the culmination. Here’s the rundown:

Up at 7 am to preside over a new, improved morning routine (we used to stumble out of bed at 7:30 and wonder why we couldn’t get out of the house by 8:00 am). The routine thing (I’ve posted about my difficulties with routines before) was an assignment from Big Sis’ counselor, so it’s like a prescription I’ve had to fill. It’s working well so far though.We started on Tuesday and are still going strong. The key is showering at night (I know, duh…but Big Sis, who hates showering seems to hate it a little less in the morning) and letting the kids have screen time if they complete their morning routines in a timely manner. We’ve been ready to go at about 7:40 am almost every morning.

If only I had the time and energy to pull together after-school and bedtime routines. Maybe next week.

We left the house to go to the bus stop only to be greeted by the sight and smell of hazy white smoke. None of the neighbors seemed to know where it was coming from, so since danger was not imminent, we moved on with our day.

Back in the house to wash Little Sis’ wet sheets. Of course, the washer and dryer were full, so I had to clear them out first. Then, I promised myself I’d exercise at least 15 minutes, but I was already running late to pick up Mom for her doctor’s appointment. I worked out anyway, considering it a deposit toward not having my kids drive ME to the kidney doctor when I’m Mom’s age.

By the time I’m showered, it’s 10 am. I call Mom to tell her I’m on my way. She reports that the smoke I smelled earlier was from a fire in a nearby apartment building; she saw a news report. Apparently some guy on the third floor was making eggs, and some grease caught fire. He threw water on it. Two hundred firefighters and 15 road construction crew-turned-rescuers later, the building was lost, but everyone got out safely. Also, I’ll have to wash my coat to get the smell of smoke out of it.

I picked up Mom. The intention was to go out to eat before her 11:30 am appointment (because Lord knows I have plenty to do without taking Mom out to eat afterward), but we didn’t have enough time for a sit-down restaurant. Activate Plan B: I ran into Panera and picked up bagels and coffee (organic chocolate milk for Little Sis) to hold us over until afterward. Twelve dollars later (!!), we were off.

We made it to the kidney clinic 20 minutes early. Fortunately, there’s a TV in the waiting room that Little Sis usually watches. Unfortunately, the volume no longer works (and hasn’t for two months).

It was a long wait.

Forty minutes later, we went next door to the kidney doc’s office. Mom was called back. I read 5 Disney princess books and played more rounds than I care to remember of “Can You Find A Picture of THIS in the Waiting Room Magazines?” Plus, the kidney doc complimented Little Sis’ boots.

Finally, Mom was done. A good visit; Mom was expecting the doc to start prepping her for dialysis, but her labs have looked good lately, so not yet. Whew! But now I have 3 new appointments to run Mom to: More dialysis clinic, another kidney doctor appointment, and a new rheumatologist (even though I REALLY like Mom’s old one. Don’t ask. I don’t get it either).

We let Little Sis pick the restaurant for lunch (she wanted the one with “the big chicken“). She ate spaghetti and Mom & I split a salad. By now it was 2:00 pm. I still had to stop at 2 stores, drive mom 20 minutes home, and get to the bus stop by 3:45 pm. Panic starts to set in.

Boom. Off to the pet store. Cat food, cat litter, and dog food (did I mention that we were so low on dog food this morning that the dog ate cat food for breakfast?).

Boom. Off to Sam’s Club. I had a LONG list of things WE needed from the store, but all I had time to get was Mom’s stuff. Grrrrr.

Boom. Back in the minivan to fight rush hour traffic (at 3 pm already?!?) back to Mom’s.

“You know,” said Mom, “I think YOU were the reason we’re running late today. You didn’t take a shower until after nine o’clock.”

I turned to stare at her.

“You mean after spending the entire day doing things for everybody else, I made an error in judgment spending 15 minutes on my elliptical machine this morning?!?”

I huffed, “Feel free to look for another ride next time. I guess you get what you pay for.”

I tried not to let it bug me, but obviously, it did.

Didn’t bug Mom, though. She’s hopped up on so much Lexapro that she’ll giggle like a schoolgirl at almost anything.

I dropkicked dropped Mom off, cramming the basket of her walker full of her purchases. She has a history of calling me and insisting she’s out of something and NEEDSITRIGHTNOW. Hopefully it’ll save me an emergency trip within 48 hours.

Back across town, fighting school bus traffic now. We made it and picked up Big Sis.

Now for the fun. Big Sis has her regular daily homework (which usually manages to fill up two hours on a good night), her science project (optional, been working on it for three weeks, and due Friday morning), an optional homework assignment (something about inventing a musical instrument out of household materials; she’s been harassing us to borrow pieces of my $2000 trombone and Mr. Hoagie’s flute and recorder), AND a Girl Scout Brownie meeting.

Somehow, she managed to pull it all off.

But it was a hell of a day. Capping off a hell of a week.

In comparison, tomorrow’s gonna be easy. Drop off Big Sis’ science fair project, volunteer at her school, pick up Little Sis, take my midterm exam for my online class, bake brownies for the science fair, pull a homemade meatless dinner out of my @ss, go to the science fair, and spend the rest of the night consoling Big Sis and rocking her to sleep when she doesn’t win (she has issues with competition).

Piece of cake.

I’m so fried.

RANT: Sick of it all.

I’ve had it!

I am SO sick to DEATH of having to do EVERYTHING for EVERYBODY!!!!!

AAAARRRGGGHHHHH!!

I’m tired of always being responsible. I’m wiped out. Weeks of hospital visits…running the kids to tumbling and dance lessons…stopping by my mom’s to visit…off to the library for a kids program…driving Mom to the doctor…another dance lesson…return phone calls…plan menus….

Oh, and let’s not forget that on top of all that, Supermom here is supposed to cook, clean, shop, do laundry, dishes.

Oh, and lose a little weight. Did I mention I’m a stress eater?

My house is trashed. I HATE being here. Tired of tripping over dog toys, broken Happy Meal toys, assorted laundry that never made it to the hamper because my family is apparently BRAIN DAMAGED. Tired of trying to remember which pile in which quadrant of our kitchen that phone number or schedule is located.

Did I mention that all the stuff that belongs in our (nonexistent) attic is (still) in my bedroom? Has been for over 4 years, since Little Sis was born and we had to turn “the attic room” into her nursery. I hate waking up and looking at that sh*t every day. I trip over it on my way to bed. I knock it over on my way to the bathroom every morning. It includes a large bag stuffed with gift bags that we’ve received over the past 7 years that are intended to be reused. It mostly contains “new baby” themed bags that we could NEVER POSSIBLY EVER USE UP IN OUR LIVES. We won’t ever have to give gifts to 78 babies. Did I mention that this teetering pile of crap prohibits me from even using my own dresser?

Wishing I could return some favors…all the playdates that were hastily arranged to I could see my mom in the hospital…the backyard sleepover I’ve been promising Little Sis for months (“When school’s out, honey.” “After vacation, baby doll.” “When your grandma gets out of the hospital….”). I think about planning our somewhat-annual ice cream social (I even bought invitations!), but I can’t bear the thought of adding it to my workload, even though it’s the world’s easiest party to throw.

But I don’t have enough patience for my own kids lately, let alone someone else’s too.

My book club book is gathering dust on a side table. The chaise lounge I splurged on ($30 at Sam’s Club) never made it to the deck. We never got out the grill…who has time?

Summer’s whizzing by, and I’m missing it.

On the bright side, I have (expensive) Jimmy Buffett tickets for Tuesday, but right now all I can think about is my extensive to-do list. Clear out minivan so six adults can comfortably fit. (Maybe get the car detailed? I hate doing it myself.) Make sure sitter can run Little Sis to dance class. Plan menu. Shop. Pack in coolers. Be at airport by 11:30 am to pick up my sister and her (new) boyfriend. Worry that new boyfriend won’t like me or that he’ll be disgusted when he sees what shape I keep my home in. Arrive at concert. Unpack. Cook. Feed people. Drink (heavily?). Try to remember to relax and enjoy myself. It’s Jimmy Buffett, for Pete’s sake.

I’ve had it.

Is this stupid antidepressant even WORKING? Hellooo?

I’m tired.

Graduation Day

Well, it’s official. My therapist and I agreed this morning that I’m done with therapy. For the time being, anyway. And she gave me strict instructions to call at the first sign of trouble. And not to drop my antidepressant.

Which I was starting to think about, actually.

But she’s convinced me that I need to get to a certain level of stability before I even consider it. And she threw in a horror story about a patient of hers who had dropped the meds too soon and crashed four months later. It took another seven months until she was back on meds and feeling good again.

So I think I’ll stick to the status quo, as they croon in High School Musical.