It has been a week of me feeling majorly resentful of my children. They are just so needy and that neediness is often accompanied by full-pitch whininess, and I’m sorry, how many years do you have to spend saying, “I can’t understand you when you whine” for them to stop whining? Because really, it’s been years at this point. I feel like I spend all day as this gravelly-voiced waitress doing my best New Jersey accent saying, “Oh, what’s that, honey? You didn’t want sauce on your meatballs? Let me rinse them off for you!” Though I don’t actually do the cigarette voice and the accent; things might be a bit more fun here if I did.
It seems like the way to effectively parent is to give your children nothing, to let them get all their own meals, dress themselves, and learn to read on their own because you’re not going to read to them. Because it’s like they remember that time, that one time last week when I got them lunch and dressed them and read them a book and now I swear they won’t leave me alone. I mean, come on! I made you food last Wednesday!
I really do want to strike a balance between Mommy and Julie, because I will just go walk right off a cliff if I’m only Mommy. Plus I want my kids to see me as Julie, not as their housemaid and nanny. But just as soon as I start to try to do something exciting for myself, like, you know, taxes or something, they start crawling up my nose and bringing One Morning in Maine with them.
Advice is appreciated.