That's it. It's over. I'm not playing anymore. You can have it. I'm done. Me, my 18 boxes of dishwashing soap and my 3 boxes of ritz crackers are just going to hole in and stay here. Forever. I'm through. I mean it.
It's too much. Too much running around. Too many meetings. Too much responsibility. Too much laundry to wash. Too many uniforms to take care of. Too many doctors appointments. Too many girlscout patches to sew on. Too many teddy bears to color and act out story problems. Too much dust.
I can handle a lot. I really can. But this? It's just not possible. Everywhere I turn are things that need to be done. Lunches to be packed, groceries to be purchased, children to be picked up, clothing to be mended, broken teeth to be fixed........and then there are the actual BEINGS themselves wanting friends, sleepovers, to play games-like with my actual attention, dinner. How is there supposed to be enough time? I stay up late. I get up early. I only work part time for crying out loud. Why can't I do this?
Taxes, girlscout cookies, trash day, dirty refrigerators, it's all there looming over my head like a giant pelican. (I know- pelican, really? But I'm not changing it.)
So suck it. Take that. I will not be scrambling around another morning tossing half asleep 8 year olds out into the cold darkness of the too early morning screaming 'don't you miss that bus, I mean it'. THAT my friends is ri-di-cu-lous and I feel like a complete failure. The straw that broke this camels back, that is what it was.
So we are done. I am done. I'm not exactly sure what that means because clearly I'm not expecting anyone to step in and help with this. And I still know it's all my responsibility. But somehow it is freeing just to shout it out there and nod my head with some kind of deep satisfaction.
I better go make my list for the day and get back at it. After all, the dog isn't going to wash itself.