Rejuvenation is short-lived

I had a great week this week.

My Dad and I took off on Tuesday morning for a three day retreat. We took lots of walks, talked, read, meditated, and ate all vegetarian meals. It was great. My Mom was kind enough to watch the kids while we got to go have fun and refresh our spirits. We got back late on Thursday, and my folks left on Friday afternoon.

I am already burned out.

We didn't have a plan for the day, but I did have to get a few things at Wal-Mart. We weren't in the store 10 minutes before Jake started misbehaving. He's going through a really bad hitting phase. We finally made it through our Wal-Mart fiasco (not without a healthy measure of embarrassment on my part), and rolled back home for a mediocre lunch and naptime.

The kids were restless so I thought I would take them for a walk and to the park. It's windy here, but it was sunny, so I figured it would be good to get out and get some fresh air. I asked Rachel to ride her bike. She refused, and told me she wanted to ride in our double-stroller. I told her it wasn't a good idea because Jake is hitting and I didn't want them fighting. She assured me it would be fine. (Um, duh, Kate - and you listened?) So, armed with assurance from a 4-year-old that they wouldn't fight, we headed out.

We didn't even make it to the corner before the fighting began. We made it another 1/2 block before they were screaming at each other and letting fists fly. I went beserk and whopped them both on the head (twice!) through the cover of the bike trailer. (It converts to a stroller). This, of course, outside the local Catholic church where the entire congregation is filing in for evening mass. I made it another 1/2 block, still in full view of the church, with both of them screaming because I whapped them, when they started hitting each other again. I went beserk again and yelled at them to stop. This time I garnered a dirty look from a woman getting out of her Mercedes. I must have looked so trashy, but I am just exhausted.

So instead of taking them for a walk, I walked them straight to the park and let them run around to burn off some of their angry energy. Jake found the biggest puddle in the park and proceeded to slog through it, soaking his shoes and socks. I dragged Jake out of the puddle, put them on the jungle gym thing, sat down on a bench and cried. I haven't cried like that in quite a while.

No matter how much help I get, no matter how many breaks I take, it's not enough. And I realize this because this is my permanent life. I can never go for a run/walk or go to the grocery store alone unless my folks are here or I hire a sitter. I think what drains me is the knowledge that this is it. This is where I am. It's not what other people have. I can't just say "Honey, can you watch the kids? I need to run out for a gallon of milk and some mascara." I have to pack up two little people, get a cart because I can't have them running around, and hope that we can make it through (walking rather fast) without some kind of a scene. I have to run or walk hoping that they'll get along. Even if it's just Jake (sometimes I walk while Rachel's at school), the fact of the matter remains that he can only stay in the stroller for so long before throwing a fit.

That is the drain. The realization that my life is not a break with a few intermittent hard times. It's a constant hard time with a few intermittent breaks.

The kids are just being kids. That's what they do. And I realize that there are a lot of other people who have it just as hard, if not harder than me. Just when you think your own personal drama is the worst, you realize that there's someone out there who truly does have it harder than you.

But today, I would have given anyone a run for the white-trash award. I'm sure the church on the corner is abuzz with the news of an abusive Kohler mother.

Which goes back to my thing: they have no idea who I am or what's going on with me. You would never know by looking at me that I'm a 35-year-old widow who lost my husband to cancer. You would never know the sorrow that is my every day life. You'd never know that even before noon today I was fed up with my kids hitting each other. You'd just look at me and think "That woman needs to settle down!" (Actually, re-reading this paragraph, I don't think anyone would even guess that I'm 35. I look terrible. Some woman in Chicago asked my mom and I if we were sisters. I got off the elevator near tears. My mom tried to calm me down by saying "well maybe she just thought I looked young..." O-K-A-Y...young...like 55? Young like 50? Young like 45? Because that's really still a stretch for us to be sisters. Which means that I look at least 10 years older than I am.)

Anyway, back to the point. Take mercy on those of us who are screaming at our kids at inopportune times. You never know what our life circumstance is or how we got to be screaming at our kids in a bike trailer while they wail and smack each other outside the corner church.

Rejuvenation is short-lived. I am thankful that I have the support of family and a wonderful community to lift me up and give me a break - even if I know that at the end of a lovely run all by myself, I'll still have to go home and restart my responsibilities.

Sorrow is my every day life. The kids will stop hitting each other eventually. I'll get to go for runs and to the store on my own eventually. But this nagging sorrow never leaves and it never lets me rest.