Hosted my daughter's 8th birthday party this morning, and it was fun until she melted down completely at the end and turned into a spoiled brat. I'm feeling really down now, upset with her, sad, disappointed, feeling like I've raised a brat. Ok, so I'm feeling sorry for myself, I know, but, to change the subject entirely: A friend of mine on Facebook put up this poem by Langston Hughes the other day, post-inauguration, and it is too wonderful not to share. Hope you enjoy it.
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll sit at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America.
-- Langston Hughes
Showing posts with label Poor Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poor Me. Show all posts
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Days Like This
Ok, folks, bear with me. I'm going to whine. (I've been hearing so much whining from my daughter that it has rubbed off.)
I'm exhausted. Not sleeping well - too hot, too stressed out, too much on my 'to-do' list worrying me. Summer has officially become too long this week; my kids are between camps and lessons and the constant requests for something to do, to phone a friend, the 'I'm-boreds,' the 'why-won't you-let-me's,' the, 'this-is-the-worst-day-of-my-life' screaming fits . . . well, I've had enough. I feel totally unappreciated and unacknowledged. Parenting is the best thing I have ever done and the hardest thing I've ever done. No one tells you that, while you're raising your kids, they won't appreciate you, they won't say 'thank you' unless reminded 18 times, they will demand as much of you as they can get and they won't respect the fact that you are exhausted, have a need for time to yourself, or are trying to make dinner/pay bills/clean/have a conversation on the phone . . . .
What's in order for me right now is a good massage, a pedicure, and a big, big margarita. (And none of those things are going to happen, especially not the margarita as it is currently 10:30 in the morning.) I am feeling sorry for myself, but I'll get over it. Thanks for indulging me.
I'm exhausted. Not sleeping well - too hot, too stressed out, too much on my 'to-do' list worrying me. Summer has officially become too long this week; my kids are between camps and lessons and the constant requests for something to do, to phone a friend, the 'I'm-boreds,' the 'why-won't you-let-me's,' the, 'this-is-the-worst-day-of-my-life' screaming fits . . . well, I've had enough. I feel totally unappreciated and unacknowledged. Parenting is the best thing I have ever done and the hardest thing I've ever done. No one tells you that, while you're raising your kids, they won't appreciate you, they won't say 'thank you' unless reminded 18 times, they will demand as much of you as they can get and they won't respect the fact that you are exhausted, have a need for time to yourself, or are trying to make dinner/pay bills/clean/have a conversation on the phone . . . .
What's in order for me right now is a good massage, a pedicure, and a big, big margarita. (And none of those things are going to happen, especially not the margarita as it is currently 10:30 in the morning.) I am feeling sorry for myself, but I'll get over it. Thanks for indulging me.
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