I've been in a bit of a funk for the past 24 hours or so. And I daresay it's probably going to be here for awhile. Depression, Second Guessing, Guilt have all joined the party.
We had a bit of a switcheroo of plans for the weekend. Originally we were headed to my parents house for today & tomorrow to drop off the brats who were staying a week or two. They have camp there on Monday. I knew that tomorrow was Father's Day, but since they went two weeks ago and usually bio-dad doesn't have extra $$ lying around, I figured that he couldn't afford to have them. So, I didn't mention to him our plans, because I just assumed that he wouldn't bother (like how it's been 85% of the time, this past year.).
He called me noonish yesterday. Can I have my kids for Fathers Day? And because I'm not as Super Bitch as I'd like to hope I am, I said Sure. Can you come get them? We're on our way! He said. And they were.
So I'll pick them up tomorrow from his place (or his dad's) and haul them to my parents place. We'll either come home late Sun or early Monday. It's about a 2.5 hr drive, depending on snow & traffic. (This time of the year, and that late, shouldn't have much problems with either.) We'll meet mom to pick up the kids in about 10 days or so.
Than we'll have them home for a few days, and return them to their dad. Since both the kids are booked up August with sports and school starts Sep, July is the only month they can squeeze more than a 3-day weekend in. So I try and share them for as long as I can with him when I can. I feel like it's important for them to have time.
My struggle lies Within.
Every other visit or so, it hits me.
Like last night, at 3am. I woke up from a dead sleep. Freaking out. Internally of course.
It's when I question every little last detail of how I raise them. And how I should give them more time. And play with them more. And be more creative with them. And play more sports with them. And why didn't I buy them new baseball gloves yet? And why don't I make sure and read to them Every Night before bed? And speaking of reading, we should have a set Library Visit day. And we really have to make sure and eat every meal as a family, around the table, with the tv off. And I should Be Nice to them All The Time, and never be an Angry Mommy. I should never swear. I should make sure they're at church every chance we can get. I should be more involved in their schools. And and and and and.
And there's no shutting it off once it starts. It's like a bowl of spaghetti. One noodle to another. And on and on and on.
Whenever they go there it's the same thing. Austin sad because he loves his dad and doesn't want to displease him. And yet whenever he comes home those feelings are mixed with disapointment and despair because of how much attention that Isn't paid to him. He doesn't want to ask for seconds because it might hurt his dad's feelings and they don't really have all that much food. And my little Xav could really care less. He goes there for some play time, but Mommy is his home.
Usually it's a 3 day visit. We spend the first one driving. The second one we kill housecleaning or the movies. And the third day they come home.
But right now I'm wallowing in self-pity. And and and and
We had a bit of a switcheroo of plans for the weekend. Originally we were headed to my parents house for today & tomorrow to drop off the brats who were staying a week or two. They have camp there on Monday. I knew that tomorrow was Father's Day, but since they went two weeks ago and usually bio-dad doesn't have extra $$ lying around, I figured that he couldn't afford to have them. So, I didn't mention to him our plans, because I just assumed that he wouldn't bother (like how it's been 85% of the time, this past year.).
He called me noonish yesterday. Can I have my kids for Fathers Day? And because I'm not as Super Bitch as I'd like to hope I am, I said Sure. Can you come get them? We're on our way! He said. And they were.
So I'll pick them up tomorrow from his place (or his dad's) and haul them to my parents place. We'll either come home late Sun or early Monday. It's about a 2.5 hr drive, depending on snow & traffic. (This time of the year, and that late, shouldn't have much problems with either.) We'll meet mom to pick up the kids in about 10 days or so.
Than we'll have them home for a few days, and return them to their dad. Since both the kids are booked up August with sports and school starts Sep, July is the only month they can squeeze more than a 3-day weekend in. So I try and share them for as long as I can with him when I can. I feel like it's important for them to have time.
My struggle lies Within.
Every other visit or so, it hits me.
Like last night, at 3am. I woke up from a dead sleep. Freaking out. Internally of course.
It's when I question every little last detail of how I raise them. And how I should give them more time. And play with them more. And be more creative with them. And play more sports with them. And why didn't I buy them new baseball gloves yet? And why don't I make sure and read to them Every Night before bed? And speaking of reading, we should have a set Library Visit day. And we really have to make sure and eat every meal as a family, around the table, with the tv off. And I should Be Nice to them All The Time, and never be an Angry Mommy. I should never swear. I should make sure they're at church every chance we can get. I should be more involved in their schools. And and and and and.
And there's no shutting it off once it starts. It's like a bowl of spaghetti. One noodle to another. And on and on and on.
Whenever they go there it's the same thing. Austin sad because he loves his dad and doesn't want to displease him. And yet whenever he comes home those feelings are mixed with disapointment and despair because of how much attention that Isn't paid to him. He doesn't want to ask for seconds because it might hurt his dad's feelings and they don't really have all that much food. And my little Xav could really care less. He goes there for some play time, but Mommy is his home.
Usually it's a 3 day visit. We spend the first one driving. The second one we kill housecleaning or the movies. And the third day they come home.
But right now I'm wallowing in self-pity. And and and and
