Friday, July 8, 2011

One of Those Weeks

I feel like my head is about to explode.

It has not been the best of weeks. I think it was coming back to work after being so ill over the weekend. I was not ready for this.


Children pouring inside from the outdoors, dripping with various fluids: sweat, chlorinated water from the nearest pool or Kool-aid.

Children scribbling on tables.

Children tearing posters from the walls.

Children tackle-hugging me when my back is turned.

Children standing on chairs and smashing tiny fists onto computer keyboards.

Children tearing books from shelves.

Children climbing shelves.

Children everywhere.

Normally, I can handle this.

I can even be patient. Kind. Understanding.

This week, I want to tell parents to kindly dislodge their children from my bookshelves, with VENOM. I think there may actually, be real SMOKE coming out of my ears. But I can't see it. Maybe because it's too humid.

The children aren't doing anything worse. Nor are the parents. This is the way the kids usually act. Except...I am not my usual self. I have spent the entire week a breath away from self-immolation.

I got a call from someone this week, announcing, "I just can't handle [this] anymore." THIS was a project we'd been working on together. "I can't do it. You'll have to finish on your own. My life is too busy."

I wanted to hurl my cell phone at her. Because she is not the only person who has a busy life. In fact, many of us have CRAZY busy lives, but we do not commit to things and then give up on them to do other things, like watch television. Some of us stop watching television. Some of us multitask. Some of us are so busy filling in for a half-dozen different employees through various emergencies, we put our own tasks on the back burner. Some of us have learned to triage.

Instead I listened to her flimsy excuse and hung up the phone, then went home and finished our task on my own.

What I need is chocolate. Lots of chocolate. And maybe a trip to the yarn store, to buy yarn for a tiny little sweater that wants knitting. I need sedatives.

I want to be the sort of person that can scream at other people. But I'm not.

I want to be the sort of person who tells another person: If you don't do X, it won't get finished. And if that happens, and Person Y is unhappy, I will blame YOU.

But I'm not.

Instead I do the work of two and let myself have half the credit. Instead I gnaw on Tums and do without sleep.

That's okay, I suppose.

But sometimes, my sort of person needs a box of DeBrand's chocolates, comfy pajamas, a furry sheltie or kitteh, knitting, and Netflix. Lots of Netflix. And this is one of those times.


  1. I hope you got it ALL.

    I ran a day of our parent-led co-operative day camp last week. Eight rowdy seven-year-olds for eight hours. It about killed me, and I have stamina from the six kids I've borne and raised.

    So I get your pain, I really do.

  2. The more time I spend around children, the more I realize that (unless I am suddenly given the divine gift of patience), I should probably not have children of my own, lest my head explode, traumatizing them for LIFE.