I want a social life but........
You invariably reach a stage where you want to burn your house down. Seriously. 8 years and counting, in the house more than out of it, your best friend is a radio/facebook/google+, and you actually get excited when the door bell goes. Your routine is so repetitive it's as automatic as it is tedious. You barely notice your kids are growing and are surprised when they need new shoes and clothes. Silence is the enemy and resentment grows when anyone else is around. Your domain is your castle and even family members begin to feel like the enemy encroaching upon your drawbridge.
Depressing isn't it? But wait, there's more. The kitchen you once loved is no longer big enough, the house you were once so proud of is no longer recognisable, there's no storage room left. For anything. Honestly I've begun to throw things away now without looking at what it is just so I have somewhere to store something else that I'm not quite sure of it's use (obviously only my stuff, I'm not suicidal).Then there's the stairs. The new home of, well anything. Shoes, coats, school bags, water bottles, dirty clothes, clean clothes, money boxes, that thing from school and on and on and on the list goes. Every time you hoover the vow is made never to let it happen again but like that corner of mould in the top corner of the bathroom, so the infestation returns, more powerful than it was before.
"What's the cure?" you ask. Well the answer is simple. A social life. Not playdates, or meeting up for a coffee, not kids birthday parties or visits to family, an actual social life. You remember a social life. Drinks, food, company that arrives without small creatures attached, conversation devoid of child references, maybe the utterance of a swear word or two. A conversation that doesn't revolve around school, illnesses, the price of uniforms, how to deal with bad behaviour etc etc. Remember life before the introduction of new humans in your life, like that, but with a general sense of tiredness.
So the answer is simple. However, (oh you knew there'd be an However) putting the simple answer into practice is anything but. The escape from your castle can be scuppered many different ways. A late babysitting cancellation, probably down to their social life (selfish bas@*$ds), a tell tale child sniffle on the morning of your freedom bid, trying to figure out what to wear, if the kids are at Grandparents the time of pick up dictates alcohol consumption, what do you wear on a night out, how much money do we need, what the hell is Uber, seriously, I have no idea what to wear. The stress levels rise every minute closer to freedom. You can almost taste that first drink but also the taste of sweat. Damn, do I have time for another shower? The phone goes, please don't cancel I need this, I really do.
A night out, without the children, is needed to push the burgeoning arsonist back to the deep dark recesses of your mind. You want to be sociable because, dammit your an adult and it's your right. But you are now a parent, with all the guilt and pressures that brings. You want a social life but those stairs aren't going to clear themselves and anyway, you've probably have nothing to wear.
Depressing isn't it? But wait, there's more. The kitchen you once loved is no longer big enough, the house you were once so proud of is no longer recognisable, there's no storage room left. For anything. Honestly I've begun to throw things away now without looking at what it is just so I have somewhere to store something else that I'm not quite sure of it's use (obviously only my stuff, I'm not suicidal).Then there's the stairs. The new home of, well anything. Shoes, coats, school bags, water bottles, dirty clothes, clean clothes, money boxes, that thing from school and on and on and on the list goes. Every time you hoover the vow is made never to let it happen again but like that corner of mould in the top corner of the bathroom, so the infestation returns, more powerful than it was before.
"What's the cure?" you ask. Well the answer is simple. A social life. Not playdates, or meeting up for a coffee, not kids birthday parties or visits to family, an actual social life. You remember a social life. Drinks, food, company that arrives without small creatures attached, conversation devoid of child references, maybe the utterance of a swear word or two. A conversation that doesn't revolve around school, illnesses, the price of uniforms, how to deal with bad behaviour etc etc. Remember life before the introduction of new humans in your life, like that, but with a general sense of tiredness.
So the answer is simple. However, (oh you knew there'd be an However) putting the simple answer into practice is anything but. The escape from your castle can be scuppered many different ways. A late babysitting cancellation, probably down to their social life (selfish bas@*$ds), a tell tale child sniffle on the morning of your freedom bid, trying to figure out what to wear, if the kids are at Grandparents the time of pick up dictates alcohol consumption, what do you wear on a night out, how much money do we need, what the hell is Uber, seriously, I have no idea what to wear. The stress levels rise every minute closer to freedom. You can almost taste that first drink but also the taste of sweat. Damn, do I have time for another shower? The phone goes, please don't cancel I need this, I really do.
A night out, without the children, is needed to push the burgeoning arsonist back to the deep dark recesses of your mind. You want to be sociable because, dammit your an adult and it's your right. But you are now a parent, with all the guilt and pressures that brings. You want a social life but those stairs aren't going to clear themselves and anyway, you've probably have nothing to wear.
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