It happens a few times during the “Happy Season” and last for a few days before I can seem to pull myself up out of it. I’m not sure where it originates, and probably after analyzing the hell out of it off and on over the years, I can’t say I care where it originated anymore. I just know it hits, without warning, without any provocation. Making a mockery out of everything I absolutely LOVE about the Holiday Season.

I know it lets up, and then I’m able to kick into gear, and get the shopping and the decorating, and the present wrapping complete. But during the funk, I don’t feel like socializing with anyone, have a tough time counting my blessings, and just want to crawl back into bed and hide for a while. Anxiety over the stress of the Holidays? Most likely. But it sucks none the less.

I had to write an email this last week, that part of me didn’t want to. After declaring my boredom here, my desire to find something of my own, I got a phone call from my former boss, asking me if I would be interested in coming back to work for him. I of course, caught off guard, said that yes I would be interested. He was on vacation out of state when he called to see if I was interested. It felt good to be thought of, and asked back after so long.

After getting off of the phone, and looking at my day to day schedule, I was at a loss of how I would be able to do it. Riley is struggling at school to the point of possibly not going on into 5th grade. Struggling so much so, that three weeks prior I had signed him up for Kumon, a program much like Sylvan. He is required to go to his Kumon classes twice weekly from 3 to 4, with homework from Kumon 6 days a week.

Not disciplined enough to be able to do it on his own, I am required to police his homework at every turn, with him fighting me every step of the way. With an X who says he is not the least bit worried about him, that he’ll be just fine, it’s an uphill battle, that has me yanking my hair out, and Satan’s Spawn testing my resolve every step of the way.

Tayler who is involved in Girl Scouts, basketball, violin and the media broadcasting team at school, was not happy to hear of the possibility of her mom going back to work fulltime. The kids’ dad is working major amounts of overtime, my husband is learning a new job, so both dads ability to pick up any slack where the kids are concerned are limited at best.

In conclusion there wasn’t a way for me to figure out how to attend to Riley’s educational needs responsibly and return to work. Being the coward that I am, I sent my former boss an email explaining myself, instead of calling. That was that. I’m pretty sure I have burned that bridge now. I am not sure I really wanted to return to an office position anyway. It was just so nice to be asked. Noticed? Maybe.

Sometimes it’s hard as a SAHM to measure any sense of accomplishment, recognition or success. Right now success is NOT getting a phone call from the Principal of Riley’s school that week. Which was not the case this last week. Making the thought of running back to a fulltime job and hiding from Satan’s Spawn all the more desirable.

Instead I sat on the phone with Mr. A listening to him tell me of Riley’s latest escapade, which when you boil it down, consisted of Riley calling two girls in his class penis heads. Not once, but twice. As he followed up his original statement with “In fact, you’re penis head 1 and you’re penis head 2.” just for good measure I guess. These are the same little girls he had problems with last year beating on him, because I had managed to instill in him, that boys don’t hit girls. So instead he is working at improving his verbal warfare. Why it hasn’t occurred to any of these three kids to stay the Hell away from each other is beyond me. It seems they are drawn to each other, purely for the purpose of battle.

Most of the time, I am grateful for all of God’s Blessings, but right now, I don’t want to count them. One of those Blessings goes by the proper name Riley, and at the moment I’m not sure if he was meant as a Blessing or a curse. Quit laughing dad. Someone remind me to delete this before I die, so I don’t scar the little darling with my negative feelings, that end up costing him years of therapy. (It’s always moms fault) Before anyone comes to the conclusion that I am an unfit mother for writing these things, let alone thinking them...Don’t. My way of dealing with funks, depressions, and discouragements, is with sarcastic and morbid humor. (I know I’m not funny, this is for me though, and if it makes me smile, so be it.)

Well at least with age, you learn bad days are not the end of the world. And that yes, this too shall pass.