When My Tribe Has Failed Me

I loathe summer after the first two weeks. It is not because the boys get up at the crack of dawn (which they do). It is not because they try to crawl up my behind every minute of the day (they do that, too). They are pretty self sufficient three-fourths of the time. Honestly, I love school because it is a free babysitter.

School: the ultimate daycare provider. No one shames me for my enjoyment at seeing them walk through those double doors because it is educational (and kind of a requirement). I can do a dance like no one is watching on the drive home (mostly in my own driveway). I do not pray for the teachers. They took the job on purpose.

I have reached a high point after twelve years of being a SAHM and then a part time SAHM. I savor my cup of coffee if I wait till 8:30 a.m. I enjoy a few hours of eerie silence. I relish non-sticky floors and tables until dinner time. I can hop in the shower, walk around the house naked, and possibly have sexy time with my husband. Then take a nap to recuperate.

Jealous, yet?

If you have a tribe that you can depend on, I am, actually, more jealous of you.

I find it hard to comprehend. It is a lonely life. Why would someone want that? No one sees sees it that way.

I was brain washed to believe that, even though, I only have two hands, two more are only an arm's length away. I was raised by more than one mother, father, sister and brother. There was always someone around to take care of me. To ask questions. To answer questions.

I have parents, who live 20 minutes away, who have not offered to spend time with their grandchildren (on their own) for two years. The in-laws can not even offer because they live in different states. It is hard enough for me to spend money on us, let along fifty bucks a pop on a sitter. Who my kids can be crazy towards. Or who can judge us as parents. (Even though, I'm paying them.) Every time I see a social media status that reads "Grandparents are taking the heathens for a week" or "Third kid free weekend in a row", I get a little stabby.

I understand that life happens. Everyone has schedules that do not revolve around me and I have a schedule that revolves around my kids, husband, work and etc. I accept and deduce that if you have three kids (or more) under five years of age, your invitation to get together will probably fall through.

I miss being able to hang out with people and just....hang out. I do not want to feel like there are strings attached. Yes, I'm whining. However, when my tribe has failed me, I call bullshit.

• Never volunteer to watch my children and ask me again if/when I'm going to have more.....bullshit.

• Complain that we do not see each other enough, then call (or do not call at all) and cancel plans because you slept till noon.....bullshit.

• I only see you at Christmas but please call to borrow enough money to pay a mortgage (but that is not what you're spending it on), even though you make more than me and have no kids...bullshit.

• Ask us to fly, last minute, (during a two month lay-off) when you have never visited and we have drove 32 hours round trip, with two kids, three times.....bullshit.

• Fail to take a firm grasp on your husband's balls and back out of an already paid for (by me) event that I gave you three months notice for.....bullshit.

I have no tribe. I have to take care of myself and the ones in the other room.We have survived thirteen years together and there was quite a bit of "come hell or high water". I cannot turn back time, control other people's actions or force the impossible.

Life really is survival of the fittest. The strongest minds and the strongest connections.

I've realized that only I can make time for me and mine. I'll appreciate my pack of four.

For Better or For Worse

Dear World,

He is the better parent. Honest. I'm not trying to spit shine his shoes.

I see my faults often. I don't think anyone else sees them but me (well, they don't say anything).

He is the player. The go-getter. The drive 7 hours by himself, with both boys, to another state doer. He is the one that suggests to sign them up for #allthethings. He is the one they miss the most at the end of the day.

I try and I question. I love my children. Which makes me an okay parent. He does and he is. Which makes him a great parent.

I think 26 would've been a better age. That is when we had Mr. Sunshine. Our finances are linked to that year. We were on our feet. Both of us were working. Mr. 12 (6 at the time) was in school all day.

I didn't factor kids into the picture. I didn't want to have them in the sense I didn't plan on having kids in my teenage mind. It was filled with, honestly, no ideas. No goals. Just a bit of indifference and a lot of questions.

Then we were stupid. (Seriously, there isn't another word to put here.) 

I was too young. But I was only 19. Not really that young. He was younger. Yet, older.

And I slipped. And he pulled me out of the water, no matter how many times I screamed at him to leave me alone. Yet, he stayed. Often, on the other side of a door.

He is the better parent. He is the better person. I have no idea why. Of our two childhood's, he had the worst one. He didn't have many role models. He just knew what he wanted. He'd become a parent again if I said yes. Many times over.

.. .-..---...-. -.-----..- (I Love You)

 Without all the fuss and nonsense; without all the senseless rhyming.

You are the pebble in my pond. You ripple my heart. 

Let's skip rocks and count the beats.

We sketch our lives and smear the lead. 

My fingerprints and paper cuts are yours.

I tire.

You linger.

You tire.

I linger.

We make love in the static.

We decode the noise.

You and I are silent.