Finally, FINALLY the day I’ve been waiting for since June 28, 2011.
My kids are going back to school.
I’ve calculated the amount of time I’ve had in my own house, by myself, since that date, and it was 2 hours, 23 minutes.
I’m sure the nice mommies are all, “Ugh! There she goes again, saying mean shit about her kids!”
Yes. Yes. I’ve been saying mean shit about my kids all the live long fucking day!
I didn’t say it outloud…well, some I did, but most I communicated to them mentally.
Child psychologists concur this is less traumatic.
So when Zoe asked me, “Will you miss us tomorrow?”
I replied, “No.”
Then I felt bad, so I said, “Well, not the first couple of hours. But by lunch time I’ll be missing you.”
But no. No I won’t be missing her at all.
My oldest sons are on to me.
They’re like, “Mom, it’s going to be the happiest day of the year for you.”
My reply, “Just the first day back. Afterwards, it will feel really empty around here without you guys.”
But no. No, it really won’t feel empty at all. It’ll feel like fucking heaven.
My 8 year old asked, “Mom, will you be walking me to school tomorrow?”
His reply, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Cool! ‘Cause I really don’t want to.
In the end though, he reconsidered, and said he did want me there.
Well, there goes 15 minutes.
I’m not going to give the old “I love my kids, but it’s just that it’s been a long summer” speech in order to alleviate my guilt for being in such a hurry to get them out the door.
I feel no guilt.
I’m good with wanting them the hell out of my house.
I’m sick to death of them.
This evening I went to a bootcamp run by my trainers.
Even in the midst of searching the room for the best place to vomit without drawing too much attention to myself, I was thinking, “Please don’t let the torture end please don’t let the torture end!” because then I’d have to go back home. To a firing squad of neediness.
After the workout, when I climbed into my vehicle, my cell phone alerted me to a new text.
When I read it, it was from my daughter the Cling-On, who doesn’t have a phone because I know she’d spend all her minutes calling me.
My text read, “Hi Mom! I downloaded an app onto my iPod so I can text you now!!!!!!”
She’s so clever.
“When are you coming home. I really want to see you before I go to bed.”
Because apparently, two months of seeing me…like seeing me from really close-up, so close she’s pointed out crusties in my nostrils, wasn’t enough.
And if I was even contemplating any sort of guilt, it was quickly squashed moments ago when my 8 year old climbed into bed with me.
Family time never ends in this house.