Friday, January 6, 2012


And here I sit, watching the day fade away into the dusk. Did I accomplish much? Did I make any one's day any better? Did I touch someone in any way? I can only hope.

The time when the sun starts to set until it's fully dark is the hardest time for me. I've finished my work and I'm waiting for the rush and crush of the dinner hour. I complain that I hate making dinner, but I secretly like it.

I know that with any luck, I will feed my family something they like, something that brings them pleasure. I will sit and listen to my children tell me about their day. Or not. My Mr. Wonderful comes home every single day with a story about his day. He tells me about all of the animals he's met. He tells me about how he pulled pranks on his co-workers. He gripes about having to drive through traffic and of all of the stupid, inconsiderate drivers he has to put up with. But at least he tells me. Rarely if ever does he ask me about my day.

As a young adult, this time of the day was when I usually ate dinner and started getting ready to go out for the night. It's so ingrained in me that I always feel a small sense of excitement of what's to come. I know that it will be the same evening that I had yesterday and tomorrow, but I still feel some kind of anticipation. I can't help it.

Knowing that I'm not going anywhere, and that the family will eat and then disappear for the evening to have their own adventures brings me little solace. I feel restless. I don't know what to do with myself.

I so want for someone to ask me about my day. I want them to care if I worked hard or goofed off. I want them to know that I accomplished something that I am proud of. But they never ask. Is it the curse of being a mom? That everyone depends on me and knows I'll be there so they don't have to wonder about me? Maybe.

I know that to be truly happy one must be happy with one's own life and self. Depending on others for happiness only leads to disappointment. I know this and yet, I want someone to care. Most times, I'm always upbeat and happy for my family - even if I don't really feel that way. Sometimes I can't hide the fact that I'm sad and I want to know that I matter. And yet, when I am sad, they don't ask what's wrong. They stuff the meal I prepared down their throats and take off, leaving me to wallow in my thoughts.

I scold myself for having a pity party when I feel this way. I have a very good life, a healthy happy family, wonderful kids, loving parents, exceptional siblings and a loving husband. I honestly couldn't ask for more. It's just that sometimes I wish I didn't have to spend the dusk of my days feeling alone.

Don't mind me...I'm just waxing poetic. I'm having a moment of loneliness amidst all of the chaos. My pity party cup runneth over. I hope that tomorrow I'll be my usually crazy, happy, scatterbrained self. But today I think I will wallow in my depression and just let it be. Besides, it's only going to be 20 minutes until my Manchild comes home. And then my house won't be empty. And I won't have to listen to the negative thoughts rattling around in my brain. I'll get to hear about all of the dogs and cats and goats my man has met. It brings him joy and it will lift me from my quagmire of depression. I'll sit there and feed him the meal I have lovingly prepared and I will listen to the stories of his day while I think about the day that I've had. But I'll keep that story to myself.

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