bubble tea experience
I went to the tea house and tried something new. Jasmine Honey Green Tea (with tapioca, of course.) Normally I hate green tea but this beverage’s name has been calling mine. Oh my gosh it was so good because it smelled like jasmine. Then I realized that it smelled like jasmine bath products. Then I realized that chewing the tapioca balls was like chewing those little jasmine-scented bath beads we used to buy for Mothers’ Day for 99 cents in rainbow variety clear plastic rectangles at Walgreens.
Then I realized that that didn’t bother me at all.
imminent tears – I feel them
After two weekends with me, the kids must now have a weekend with their dad. Every time this happens, on the morning of the day they go away, I want everything to be perfect. I want hot breakfast on the table, pink cheeks and kisses on the forehead, “I love you, darling”, “I love you, Mommy”, a perfect tableau for them to miss while they’re away.
Instead it’s the same hectic morning as always, but with me being a total fucking bitch. Rory sitting on the couch half naked while I grab my car keys and head to the door doesn’t just annoy me – it incenses me. Josh’s uniform lying wet in the never-started dryer doesn’t just inspire mild panic – it inspires a bitter sermon about the hopelessness of every goal our family will ever have. Dallas’s dreamily forgetful stupor is no longer mildly amusing – it’s so, so infuriating.
I screamed at the kids. Why? Can I excuse it by saying that I get so tired, and then discouraged by the fact that, as a single mother, I will be this tired over and over again forever? How about the guilt – the guilt that I feel over looking forward to a weekend to myself? Is that what makes me ruin our last mornings? Is that an excuse?
The Thursday nights before they go away, such as last night, are good. We go out to eat, watch a movie, or play a little Uno. The Sunday night drives back home from Austin are good. We sing along to the radio or play The Story Game. But the 1st and 3rd Friday mornings of the month are so, so bad.
Right before I drop off Josh at his middle school, I mutter my half-ass excuses and apologies and explanations, patting his arm a little desperately with my eyes stony on the traffic. And I hate myself for it. What do the excuses matter? I was a bad mother this morning. God, please forgive me. No…. Kids, please forgive me. God, you just help me, okay? Help me to do better.
I will never lie to y’all.
I am an elitist. I sometimes think I’m better than others. I am petty, judgmental and, yes, sometimes actually evil.
But I also have good manners. Plus, the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.
Plus, I never lie.
