Coincidence?

For the past month or two, I feel my general mood has been better. Of course I may not be the best person to judge and I leave it up to you whether to agree or laugh your socks off. But tonight it’s not, tonight my mood is falling down the bottomless pit I know a little too well.

On the face of it, there’s no reason, if anything my mood should be great as my number one daughter, J, was an angel in her Christmas nativity play this afternoon. And she was a delight. I even got there on time and got good seats. Better still I remembered the camcorder and camera, and I would’ve posted pictures if I’d remembered to take the bloody memory card too! But I’m not overly upset about that, as I have the memories and anyway, it’s my own fault and this mistake will mean I won’t forget next year.

In fact everything is my own fault, and I’m not even sure what it is about everything that’s making me so pissed off. Though I have an idea, and shall have to start at the beginning.

I live on an island, it’s small and because of where we live nowhere is further than five miles away (apart from the rest of the world!). But living in a small place means that after twenty odd years of living here, I consider any drive longer than fifteen minutes, too darn long. And the speed limit is stupid because all the roads are small, so it really can take you half an hour to get three miles, and that’s downright annoying when it’s your life.

Anyway the point is, I detest driving and avoid going further than two miles in any direction. The north of the island is too windy and bleak for my taste, so no problem there. The east has very little to offer, so again no problem. But the west is a nuisance because it’s where R’s tennis is, P’s rugby, S’s swimming is, and it’s where my parents live.

And my parents got back today. After seven weeks in the sun they’re back for my birthday and Christmas time with the family. Great.

In fact double great, because maybe it means I’ll be able to get a little help with things. After all when my mother signed S up for swimming on Tuesdays (at the sports centre next door for her convenience), she swore blind she would do the running to and fro.

Except. MY MOTHER’S NEVER BLOODY HERE. And when she is, she signs herself up for golf! I wouldn’t care if I had more than four days to finish my Christmas shopping before S breaks up. I wouldn’t be so astounded if the weather wasn’t utter crap, and it made sense that anyone would want to be outside for four hours. I wouldn’t be so ungrateful if my mother didn’t give me a hard time whenever she wants see the children, and it’s not convenient for me. I wouldn’t be so narked, if my mother showed the tiniest bit of regret or remorse for booking up her day without a thought to the prior commitment. And I wouldn’t be so fed up if she thought to warn me with less than twenty hours notice.

And another thing! Tonight she told me S should go to gym tots because she obviously loves jumping, as the state of my sofa reveals. I said no bloody way was I signing up any of the kids for anything more, because there is only one of me, with one car, one pair of hands and only twenty-four hour in each day to get everything done.

‘Oh I’ll do it!’ she piped up, still smiling.

‘Like the swimming?’ I asked.

She thought it was hilarious.

But I managed to stop her laughter. And no physical force was required, I just said the form had arrived for next term and I wasn’t signing S up. Before there could be any argument I explained I just can’t manage it. I mean three out of four weeks, I do. But the ten minute lunch window, along with the twenty minute drive each way (mostly in the pouring rain at the moment), and immediately on to the school runs, just stresses me out to the point of wanting to scream. And it’s only a Tuesday! Maybe if it wasn’t followed by Wednesday’s bedlam I wouldn’t mind so much. But it is, and I do.

My mother’s not happy with me, but when she consulted her diary she noticed she wasn’t here for another seven weeks of next term, so she hushed up pretty quick.

However I’m thinking my parents stress me out. Generally. Not what they do, or don’t do, just them. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful and I love them dearly. It’s just the effect they have on me. Whenever they get back they’re always fed up if I have other things planned. They like me to meet them every Saturday and the family to go to theirs on Sundays. These things are nice, we all enjoy them, except if you want to do other things, then you’re treated as though you’re slapping them in face. They also like to pop by, and be served tea, without any notice, which is less than ideal for a secret smoker. And even when they do give notice and I warn I’ve got to be someplace else at a certain time, they don’t pay any attention. In short they wear me out. They’ve been home less than a day and I’m exhausted and fed up.

And I know that’s wrong. It’s all my own doing. If I had some nerve I would explain to them when they drive me bonkers (except the smoking bit, which I’ll never have the nerve for). And most of it is probably my imagination anyway. And knowing all this, adds another element: GUILT, for being so damn ungrateful.

--x--

So here I am, typing this. When I started I wanted to scream and kick things. Now I want to cry.

And I may not have to worry about swimming tomorrow anyway as P has a rumbly-tumbly (AGAIN!), not that it makes much difference as I still won’t get any shopping done. Bloody hell, you would think some of them would figure out I need some time to buy the presents they all want for Christmas! I’d better go look on eBay.

Sorry for the pitiful rant folks, but if I get it all out here, it means I’ll be nicer to the kids ;o) And if you’re still reading, thank you.