Life has been exceptionally noisy lately.
My fingers have been itching to hit this keyboard all summer long, yet, over and over again, I have stopped myself as I’ve opened the computer.
I felt like I had nothing to say.
Summer comes with sunshine and warmth–two things that I thrive on. It is also a time of vacation for this home full of teachers, and lot of “together” time.
Life has been CHAOTIC.
Parenting is hard, ya’ll. Like, there is no manual and there is no way to make your companion parent the way you want them to.
I’m an elementary teacher. I am good at tuning out noise. I am good at ignoring the small stuff and at picking my battles.
I am not afraid of discipline and real-world consequences–or, of letting my children experience those real world consequences through mistakes of their own.
My husband? Not so much. He teaches adults. He never envisioned himself as a dad.
He wants to give his kids ALL. THE. THINGS. He never wants them to fail or get hurt.
He’s extraordinary in the amount of time he gives his kids. He is so much better at playing with them than I am. He takes them places and runs errands with me. He gives me “me” time and never complains that he has to “babysit” his own kids.
But, also, he lacks balance. He lets the kids walk all over him and then explodes when it becomes too much. He doesn’t believe in babysitters and feels like it is “our” job to always watch our kids and that we are failing in some way if we need “us” time.
We have re-hashed this issue SO. MANY. Times.
I give him talking points. I talk to him about consistent rules and boundaries.
It never sticks.
And that is HARD.
It is hard because the house turns into chaos. Kids throw fits. Kids get upset. He wants to talk, talk, talk. He fusses. They fuss. It is loud.
It is hard.
I retreat. I feel like nobody listens to me anyway.
My home, right now, is not my peaceful place.
There are days where I want to just get out, to get away from it all.
There is also that underlying guilt–what am I doing wrong? I shouldn’t want to get away from my family.
Having a spouse who has chronic depression and is naturally pessimistic is wearing on the soul. I have learned, in our 13 years together, that I cannot change him. I cannot make him use self-care. I cannot make him happy.
It is his choice.
But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to make it happen.
It doesn’t stop me from worrying that my kids are growing up in dysfunctional home, and learning how to worry over needless stuff.
My 10 year daughter is already exhibiting signs of perfectionism and anxiety over little things. She has a pessimistic outlook on making friends and is exceptionally sensitive to remarks–taking them to the extreme.
Have I failed her?
We talk. We talk it out.
But it doesn’t always change her reaction.
My son is a fit thrower this summer. Everything is an extreme reaction. A meltdown.
All my life I have wanted them to have more than I had. To have better than I had.
But I also feel so frustrated that they don’t realize how much they have. That they don’t appreciate all the amazing opportunities they have already experienced.
Am I alone in this?
Where is my own balance?