I’m a Mean Mom.
PhilBillPaul is a Nice Dad.
Our roles have been clearly defined for many years.
My role as the mean mom has become extraordinarily difficult during these teen years.
I won’t go into a play-by-play of all my meanness this weekend. I’ll save it for another post.
Suffice to say, “I am mean and always say no and am always in a bad mood.”
I’m paraphrasing one of the teens’ rant with tears about how mean I am. The only thing
she the darling didn’t say is that I’m mean.
Some day I’ll also go into detail about how Nice Dad just wants “everybody to be happy.”
Which is a beautiful sentiment. Really it is.
He was put here on earth to make me look even meaner.
I often fantasize about living in a crappy little apartment (crappy little beach cottage would be even better) and letting Nice Dad and the teens live in funland and squalor.
I’m not saying I would abandon my family–they could most certainly come visit me.
PhilBillPaul could even call and come pick me up for a date.
I would be willing to work them all into my busy schedule.
My therapist didn’t think this was such a keen idea when I ran it by her last week.
But then again, she doesn’t live at my house, now does she?
Just thinking out loud here. (sigh)
I dream of little things like…
- Clean dish towels with no dried food on them
- My scissors and tape being in the drawer where I put them
- A coffee table that doesn’t have sticky I-don’t-know-what-on-it
- More than 3 squares of toilet paper in the guest bathroom
- Not tripping on anything when I go up or down the stairs
I’m showing my shallow side. I know this.
I have issues. i know this too.
Just venting because I’m sure I’ll feel better if I just SHARE this with you.
And I wonder if anyone else feels this way?
And the Valium doesn’t seem to be working…