I read a “funny” the other day that said something to effect of “I blog because it’s cheaper than a therapist.” I laughed at it, thinking, “Yeah, you’ve got that right.” Today it’s still funny, but I’m not laughing because it’s completely true.
One of my Bloggy BFFs, Penny, over at Mommy Rants at Comfy Pants, awarded me the Triumph Trophy, which was founded by Baking in a Tornado/The Black Sheep Mom in 1937 (Or something like that.)
The requirements for the award are:
A) You have to put the award on your page (even if you are terrified by the hair, which I am.)
B) Write a post about how “I didn’t kill ?????? today.” It can be a spider, your hairdresser, your child’s Latin teacher, your crappy refrigerator, the sound, whatever. (The sound would be really cool, but I’m never in charge of the mic, so I’ve never gotten to choose whether to “kill the sound” or not. Sad face.)
C) Pass out the award to others with abandon. Or without abandon. However you deem fit – just as long as you know it’s going to other mothers who need to vent.
How lucky for me, unlucky for you, that I actually want to kill someone today. Unlucky for you because I am about to emotionally vomit all over my blog like you are my therapist. Lucky for me because maybe by venting, screaming, yelling and crying all over the interwebs today I will feel better. That’s yet to be seen.
Long story short, after getting laid off a gazillion times during the whole stupid economy crash, my husband, SAH (Super Awesome Husband), decided to go back to school to get his Early Childhood Education (Bilingual) degree because he loves teaching and is great with kids. I don’t really know why or how and honestly he is a hundred times better mother than me, but it’s okay because I’m a better Dad. It was a giant decision for both of us, but upon learning that he could go back at virtually no cost to us via various grants and scholarships, I decided it was too good of an opportunity for him to pass up.
So, I told him to go for it. I will be the main bread-winner and we will cut costs, cut corners, cut everything and figure it out because crossing the finish line is going to be worth all of the heartache. So he did.
And it’s been insanely difficult. There are so many things at our house that need to be fixed, clothes that need to be replaced, shoes that are worn to a nub – you get the picture. We are blessed enough to have my parents nearby who are always willing to help in any way they can, and they have. They do so willingly, lovingly and with no strings attached, physically or emotionally, because they are awesome like that. It doesn’t stop me from feeling incredibly guilty though.
I feel guilty accepting their help. I feel guilty that my kids feel like they are the only kids in the world who have never been to Disney World. I feel guilty that there have been some weekends that all they wanted to do was get a haircut and I didn’t even have enough money in the bank to cover that. I feel guilty when I find out they missed doing something at school that they never even told us about because they knew we couldn’t afford it.
And then I feel guilty for feeling guilty. We have a roof. We have clothes. We have food. We have friends and family and that is so much more than many families have.
Anywho – to make a long story longer – SAH – who’s on the Dean’s List every semester and makes AMAZING grades because he’s super smart – was supposed to graduate in this May, but knee surgery last semester caused him to drop two classes, so graduation was pushed to this December. I was a bigger girl when that happened. Just a few more months, we can do it, it’s all going to be okay. No biggie. I was Polly-freaking-anna.
Then I got home from work yesterday and SAH let me know that his adviser and the Education Dean called him into a meeting that afternoon. It seems that his adviser had worked out his graduation plan on the “old catalog” and not the “new catalog” and therefore he was missing three classes he needed for graduation. I’m pretty sure I momentarily stopped breathing and didn’t start again until he said he was sorry. I told him not to be sorry, it wasn’t his fault. Then I took a double dose of Benadryl and went to bed at 6:30 pm because the only way I could deal with that last night was to go to sleep and not think about it.
But I had to get up this morning. Ugh. (Not ugh in a “I wish I was dead” sense, just ugh.)
SAH needed to take a full course load to keep his grant/scholarship money this semester, but only needed to take those two classes he dropped from the previous semester before he could start his student teaching in the fall. So he took three whatever classes – classes that he didn’t need, but was interested in. All under his adviser’s watchful eye and instruction, of course. THREE CLASSES. THE EXACT NUMBER OF CLASSES HE IS MISSING. I’m sure you see where I’m going with this.
I want to kill his adviser. But I didn’t kill his adviser today (<— this is where you notice I plugged in the award line, so don’t forget to notice, okay?). Please understand that I would never really kill her. Or anyone. Or anything. SAH gets mad at me because I catch spiders in a cup when they end up in our house and release them outside. Okay – “anything” is a lie – I kill “bad” bugs – fleas, mosquitoes wasps, cockroaches – and actually SAH kills the latter mentioned bug because they make me hyperventilate and cry.
Back to the school thing. This time around, I’m not taking it so well. I’m responding in a very un-Pollyanna like manner. I want to scream. I want to smash stuff. I want to use all those really bad words I use when I’m super angry, but I won’t write on this blog because Ward & June read it. And I sort of just want to run away. By myself. As I told my super-secret gaggle of girlfriends – I know that’s childish. I know that’s selfish. But that’s how I feel today. Just take off for Mexico, or someplace else that less druggy and gang murdery, and never come back.
I’m just tired. And I want to fix the window that Max accidentally broke with a baseball three months ago that has a board over it. And I want to not be excited that I got a $40 Visa Gift Card on Admin Assistant’s Day because hey, I can actually get a full tank of gas. And I want to be able to take Tomboy Princess to get a new pair of shoes this weekend instead of telling her she’ll have to wait until the 15th.
And then I feel bad for feeling that way again. Because we have food. We have clothes. We have a roof. And the finish line just moved from December 2013 to May 2014. That’s not that much farther away. And we’ll find more grant money. And maybe SAH’s meeting with the University brass on Monday will help. And I’m breathing. And we are all mostly healthy…
I want to kill my husband’s adviser. And crawl in a hole.
This is such a Debbie Downer post. I’m sorry. If you made it this far, thank you.
I’ll be funny and cute again tomorrow. Promise.
And I’ll post the award winners tomorrow too.
Also. I accept advice of all sorts, even if it’s mean. 
And so I don’t leave you on a sour note, a joke for your enjoyment:
What did the ocean say to the shore?
Nothing. It just waved.
I totally just made myself laugh.
