My name is Roses.
And I have a problem with summer.
My problem is, I have to work through it, and my kids don't.
Now I know what you're thinking:
Oh, Roses, you're just jealous!
Because I have to walk away from my kids everyday knowing that all the stuff they want to do on their day off, they can't do because I'm not there.
Can't go swimming.
Can't go to the bigger playground in the next town.
Can't suggest something off the top of their heads and run and go do it.
I'm not depressed because *I* can't go.
I'm sad to the depths of my heart because there's no one to take them.
*They* don't get to enjoy their summer, either.
A couple summers ago, a lovely SAHM offered to take the boys for half days.
She took them everywhere!
They even delivered Meals on Wheels.
And the other half of the day, they got to be home with their own toys, snacks, and computer games.
That was a GOOD summer.
The worst summer was last year.
Because on the first day of it, on my way to work, I swung by the school to drop off one last piece of homework for one of the boys. As I left, the teacher called to me, "Have a nice summer!"
A nice summer, she says.
As I was on my way to work.
And just hours later, when I lamented to some friends how sad I felt, one "friend" who is a teacher threw it back in my face with a big, fat, unsympathetic HA HA HA!
Did she really mean it? Dunno.
Did it hurt? Hell, yeah.
Working people have no summer.
Every day is like the last one.
The next three months, except for the weather, will be the same as the last three.
Oh yeah, and there's the child abandonment. That's different.
And the teenager I'm paying to fall asleep on my couch as the boys run around the house.
Yeah, that's always nice, too.
Enjoy my summer. Indeed.
It's one long f*cking summer of depression.
And I know this is my own problem.
It's no fault of anyone.
It's all me.
I truly hope your summer is nice.
Go do stuff. Have fun.
I'll be home around 6:30pm.
Thursday, May 24, 2007