Not Fade Away*

It feels like it's been a very long time since anyone has seen me.

I mean, of course people see me. I'm out and about with the children all the time and at my size, I'm hard to miss.

I mean, see me. Me, Christy. Not Mommy, not Honey, not school volunteer, not lady-who-ends-up-with-other-people's-kids-alarmingly-often.

Those are facets of me and I enjoy 97.4% of what I do in those roles.

But I'm so much more than that. Or, maybe it's more truthful to say that I used to be.

When I was just Christy, I was smart, funny, well-dressed and well-groomed. I'm rarely any of those things these days. Aside from on Facebook.

And I've come to realize that, in a nutshell, is why I hate Delaware.

All of what I loved being in Philadelphia, all of what made me ME, I've never been any of those things here.

I moved here as Mommy and Honey. The few friends I've made in Delaware have never known me as anything other than what I am in relation to Tom and the kids. They don't know that I make a mean mix CD. They never met my brother. They think that what I am here is what I am. Period.

But I'm not. I'm so much more. Or I was. Oh-so-long ago.

Don't get me wrong, I love my life. The tiny bit of residual Catholicism that will never leave my DNA would compel me to say that I am very blessed.

I know that. I'm truly grateful for it down to my core.

Sometimes, though, I'd like 5 minutes of peace. To just be me. To write a frigging blog post without being interrupted 438 times, for example.

N: I can't believe you're still not done!

C, snapping: Well, that's because you keep interrupting me!

*sigh*

Not my finest parenting moment. My fine moments are becoming fewer and further between, I must confess. I hate the cranky shrew that I'm becoming. I imagine my family does, too.

I'm burning out, just a little bit. 24/7 love and vigilance is wearing me down and I don't know what to do about that.

I think about taking a mini-vacation, going somewhere overnight where I could walk and read and drink tea in perfect solitude.

Who am I kidding? I can't even escape to the grocery store by myself unless I want to go at 10:00 p.m. And I don't, not at that hour. That's half past chores-done-and-bra-off o'clock.

I signed up for this. Very willingly. Like I said, 97.4% of the time, I love it. 2.6% of the time, though, I'm dreaming about the kids being grown and me doing...something.

Not sure what. Maybe just being Christy again. But with adult children who can prepare their own meals and run their own baths. Blow their own bubbles and wipe their own noses.

And butts. Looking forward with gleeful anticipation to self-butt-wiping by all citizens of Tobinville.

This was probably not an appropriate day-before-Mother's-Day post.

Okay, definitely not.

It's what's on my mind, though.

Happy Mother's Day, ladies. May you have a few lovely moments to do whatever it is you most want to do.

It's unlikely that I will but now that I've gotten my pent-up frustration off my chest I realize that it's okay. Okay to take a moment to be ungrateful. Okay to feel nostalgic for what once was and never will be again.

It doesn't mean I'd change anything about the here and now. (Except for my zip code. No epiphany will ever be big enough to make me like Dorkaware.)

When you get right down to it, I'd rather spend 2.6% of my time being a little cranky while surrounded by those I love the most than spend even a second without them in my life.

My crowded, crazy, hectic, wonderful, chaotic, disorganized, blessed life.

*My favorite Grateful Dead cover from back before my CD player was full of Star Wars soundtracks and Barbie's Greatest Hits.