You know that feeling when the Big Guy (or Girl, or It or WHATEVER) upstairs is trying to teach you an important lesson and you keep stumbling and tripping over it and the lesson just repeats, repeats, repeats itself and you feel like you’re going to scream? Like you feel like you could actually stand in front of the white light of Love and yell at the top of your lungs, “GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK ALREADY, WOULD YOU?!”

You know…*that* feeling?

Right. Well, that’s been me lately. It’s also why I haven’t been posting very much (despite some comments about floods…bite me) but have instead chosen to stalk around MyBloggers, reading everyone else and leaving comments that tell the world (or at least the blogging community) that things are fine.

Things haven’t been fine but they’re looking up.

So, if you’re familiar with the feeling I’ve described above, then you might also be familiar with the feeling of finally discovering what the fuck the Big Guy upstairs has been trying to tell you. That all encompassing feeling of relief and gratitude tinged with a bit of fear that you’re mistaken all over again and will have to start at the beginning once more. Overall, it’s a pretty magnificent feeling, wouldn’t you say? Except that if you’re familiar (and I’m pretty sure you are if you’re still reading this rambling jumble of words masquerading as a blog post) with that feeling, you also know what happens next.

Difficult learning and difficult doing. Having an explanation for the pain doesn’t make it any less painful.

Rock will pick the kids up today at around four o’clock for the first time in four weeks. They will stay until Sunday. I just realized earlier this afternoon that this is only the third time they’ve gone to visit their Dad and he’s been gone since September. And that alone is kind of fucked up especially when you consider that Don has seen more of them and he lives 528 fucking miles away. But I digress. As usual.

The bags are packed and waiting by the side door. Because the weather is colder, I could only fit the girls’ stuff into the small suitcase I bought a long time ago on clearance at Walmart. Michael’s stuff had to be crammed into the diaper bag and the extra bottles and bibs and stuff that usually go into the diaper back had to be tossed into a canvas grocery store bag. But it’s all there, including the high chair seat that fastens onto a regular kitchen chair. It’s all ready and waiting, including a surprise of no mess finger paints for the girls in case they need something to occupy themselves, as they did last time.

I took out the kids’ health cards from my wallet and tucked them on top of the microwave. I’ll give them to Rock before he leaves. Just in case.

Everything is ready and I should be ready, too. After all, it’s been a month since I had any kind of break unless you count the two Sunday mornings the girls went to church with my parents and the night I went to get apple juice alone. I count those times, believe me, because they have been the only times I’ve had any kind of reprieve. But it’s not much.

I should be ready because my kids do drive me bat shit. That is my reality and I’m sorry if it makes anyone else upset or uncomfortable or sad…that is not my intent. Like most people, my own perspective creates my own reality.

I should be ready because I have thought about this afternoon several times over the course of the past month. I have thought about finally getting to sleep in. I have thought about waking up to the smell of coffee instead of the sounds of screams and a mess of chalk and microwaved eggs in a plastic bowl. I have thought about watching TV. I have thought about sitting on my own couch. I have thought about going into a grocery store without any helpers. I have thought about the sweet sound of nothing.

I should be ready because Don will be here late, late, late tonight for another weekend visit. The house has had it’s pride cleaning plus a little extra because I’ve become a bit of a slacker (actually, probably not because I’m kind of anal and have a touch of OCD to boot). I will shower and primp a bit later tonight. I have made a list of the things that I need to go out and get after Rock picks up the kids. The Princess Don has requested a few things. He hates when I call him a princess so that’s why I do it. I am looking forward to seeing my American Boy again. “Looking forward” is putting it very mildly. I’m ecstatic.

I should be ready for all of those reasons.

But I’m not.

I don’t want them to go.

For one, Michael is sick. He’s had a bit of a fever all day and he’s crabby and his nose is running and he’s got that “peaked” look about him. I don’t want to send him to his Daddy’s not feeling well. He shouldn’t have to leave his Momma if he’s getting sick! I want to keep him home, cuddle him a whole lot more (we spent much of the morning together in the rocking chair singing to one another and snuggling, skin to skin) and keep my eye on him.

Secondly, Kate is being a little dream today. She spent the morning happily playing by herself in her room. She made scarecrow out of her hanging snowsuit and Emma’s boots and a pair of tights for a scarf. Then she drew and decorated a Christmas tree on her easel. Then she fed her bear and put her to bed and read her a story. She was in there all morning, fussing and playing quietly. When she emerged, she commented to me that she was having too much fun playing and forgot to be hungry.

Lastly, Emma is (obviously) in school today. And so I don’t get as much time with her. And I’ll barely see her before Rock picks her up. And she’s had a long week, I know. And we have to make a list of supplies she will need for diorama for school. And I haven’t taken her out anywhere in quite a while. So I really want to load her up into the car to go out for veggie burgers and shopping and just some good, clean fun.

I don’t want them to go.

I have to learn to let this go. They have to go to see their Dad. They haven’t spent a weekend with him in a month as it is! And he is capable of taking care of a sick Michael, at least on some level and if he isn’t, well, I have to let that go, too.

The girls need to see their Dad, period. I will have fun with them another time. I will see them all week long. Kate will be a good kid again (Dog willing).

I have to let them…if even just for a weekend…literally.

This is an epitomized example of the lesson I’m being taught.

I have missed my mother like crazy this week and last. I have cried for her. I have longed to have a conversation like we used to.

I have to let that go. I have to acknowledge that those conversations were false, as was the support and the listening ear. She is not willing to budge. She is not supportive. I have to let what I used to believe I had with her go.

I have missed my husband like crazy this week and last. I have cried for him. I have longed to have a piece of the friendship we used to share.

I have to let that go. It was never there in the first place and what little bit I hallucinated has been replaced by nastiness and belittlement. He will not step up to the plate. He will not help his children. He will deprive them of anything he can. He will ruin what he can for them in the hopes of ruining things for me. He hasn’t learned that punishing me only punishes them. He will take Santa away from them for fuck’s sake! And that’s pretty low. And I have to let it go.

I have to stand alone.

I have to let everything I’ve ever thought I’ve know go. Every last piece of it. Because it’s time to start again.

And it’s going to be great.

Happy Weekend, Everyone.