I'm entirely tired of wiping other people's asses. I've been doing this for nearly 10 years straight. It's times like these that I question 1) my abilities as a mother & 2) my quest to be a teacher.
I've wanted to be a teacher since I was 12. I always thought I'd teach 2nd grade. I figured it was the perfect age: not too young, like in Kindergarden where you have to teach them everything from scratch, but not old enough to have attitudes yet.
I waited almost 12 years in order to finally be able to go to college, all the while thinking that I was still on course to be a teacher. And the funny thing is, it's not even my classes that are making be second guess myself. It's my life. I know that I'm caught up in all the stress that is involved with having 3 kids under the age of 10, two of which are still in diapers.
Every single day I lose my patience. It's not even an exception anymore, it's the rule. My husband says that I have more patience than he does (and in certain respects, I do), but I'm no saint. I hate yelling, I know it's probably doing some serious psychological damage. I could probably go on and on about how this is just a manifestation of my childhood, and how my need to have my children's lives be everything mine wasn't is somehow sabotaging my ability to live in the here and now.
Whatever.
So, I came from a broken home. So has more than 50% of my generation. I had a somewhat absent father and a step-mother who had a superiority complex. My mother I don't think ever got over my dad, and proceeded to marry two complete and total losers. I was shipped back and forth between families 4 times a year, and became the "other child" once I had siblings.
Again, whatever.
I don't like trying to justify the crap I put my family through on a daily basis. But, damnit, sometimes I just want to feel sorry for myself. I like reading stories, fact or fiction, of people who overcome astronomical odds with their heads held high and their sanity intact. Only because that way I can put a name to the people I'm secretly insanely jealous of.
This is part of my problem. I'm not a "Keeping up the with Joneses" type of person. That's not my thing. I blame that part of my emerging paranoia on my husband. He is TOTALLY that kind of person. I have told him countless times that I wouldn't care if we lived in a van down by the river, I just want to be happy. Don't get me wrong: I'm not some sort of hippie, who wants to live in a commune and give all her worldly goods to the poor, I realize the world runs on money. But I'm sick of the trappings of it all. My kids are thoroughly spoiled. My in-laws try to make up for the fact that they sucked at raising their kids by making me feel like less than an adequate parent. I know they love my kids, but according to them (and in turn, according to my husband) the way to manifest your love to someone, is to buy them something shiny.
So, sum up: I lash out at my family because of the crap I went through when I was growing up. I'm envious of the people who apparently are able to go through hell and come out unscathed because all I want to do is throw myself a pity party. Did I miss anything?
Welcome to my quarter life crisis.
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