sweetcoalminer

07:15 am: Mean
Frank is horribly constipated and Mimi has diarrhea. I think this sums up my week. Frank has no interest in eating anything that might help him, and Mimi can't restrain herself from all the kiwi and prunes and salad and fibrous bread. Add to it that my stepmom is out of town for 10 days, and so I'm doing all of the cooking and cleaning and you have a picture of my week of suck.

I've given Frank two of the weird glycerine suppositories I bought at the pharmacy. One was rewarded half an hour later with 4 little rabbit pellets, and the second 2 days later fell prey to a hard little shitball that was clearly marked for exit in the imminent future as it was excreted in its entirety embedded therein.

I don't really know what to do for him at this point. My dad keeps pushing me to give him ssome bean soup, but we all are doubled over for a day after we eat it and I know that while it may rocket out the coal, it will cause him a lot of pain first.

I don't know what it is about my kids being sick that makes me so belligerent. I picked a horrible fight with my tired, immature, alcoholic father that has left us both fuming. Every single confrontation I've had with him and/or his wife has been while I've been stressed about one or both of the kids' health.

My dad was chiding me for taking some ground beef out of the freezer to make meatballs for them because of how long it would take to thaw, etc. It was nothing. It's just the constant pick pick pick I get from them all day long that has driven me completely insane. I am a good mother. Not perfect. Not even in the market for perfect. But I take good care of my kids. For fucks sake, I'm in GREECE for them. ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. But all anyone does is criticize me.

My dad's first indication of pleasure with me was 2 weeks ago when I made quesadillas for the kids. He said, "Bravo. This are very tasty. Very nice job." It's absolutely ridiculous. I'm 35, a very good divorce lawyer, a good mother, a good wife, and a generally nice person who takes care of a lot of things around here, but - WOW - those quesadillas really hit the spot.

I'm sure some day I'll understand why I am so unbalanced while my kids are unwell. I suspect it is because I focus a lot of attention on trying to make them better and do not have the energy to subvert my emotions.

I mean 3/4 of a pound of ground beef! Who gives a fuck what I do with it? I fucking bought it! If I chose to rub my face in it and then feed it to bears, what difference would it make? As if there aren't a million different things to do with it.

So I just started screaming at him. LET IT GO! I told him if it doesn't thaw in time, I'll just make spaghetti sauce with it, and he said, are you ready for this?, "Do you know how? It will take you five hours to figure out how to do it?"

And I completely lost my shit. I mean, I am 35. Who doesn't know how to make spaghetti sauce? And how fucking discriminating are toddlers re spaghetti sauce? Mimi eats spaghetti with ketchup that his wife feeds her.

Anyway, he got really mad at me and said never to yell at him again, much like his wife had said previously, and I completely lost it. All the yelling that goes on around here and I'm supposed to be a pressure cooker? I don't have feelings? I was about an inch away from packing it in, but at this point, where would we go for four months?

This is all so horribly horribly long and dull and neverending. I miss home and I'm tired.

And then an hour later, he asked me where the glue was so he could make a kite as if nothing ever happened. I feel like I'm on the other side of the magic door sometimes.

I suppose it will pass. I just hope Frank poops soon.