Mary the Grouch

I have a t-shirt of Oscar. It's lime green and sort of scratchy. It doesn't say anything. Oscar's face says it all.

This morning I should have donned that t-shirt.

I opted for Snoopy instead, sleeping on his doghouse and dreaming of hearts and x's and o's in sparkly letters. My Snoopy t-shirt is from the kids' section of Old Navy, and was purchased when having a girls' day with Jordan and Lara. We were looking for turtlenecks for Jordan that day, because apparently the cool girls are wearing turtlenecks right now. We didn't find turtlenecks, so instead we all  got Snoopy shirts with sparkles, which are much cooler than turtlenecks if you ask me. But I'm not a third grader. I just wear t-shirts made for third graders.

Anyway, my Snoopy shirt, purchased in a fit of youthful giggling with my girls, isn't a fit shirt for today. It's gray out again, and the ground is that murky, sodden swamp green of March. It's the kind of morning where I woke up and realized there was no more milk, and so I put chocolate Ensure into my coffee. It's the kind of morning on which my youngest came downstairs proudly dressed in a sundress and sandals, giving me the choice of being a bitch by making her change (draining her of her pride), or getting looks in the grocery store b/c a good mom wouldn't let her daughter out in July attire when it's 30 degrees out.  It's the kind of morning where the kids keep screaming at each other, You're not the boss of me! which then descends into an argument about who gets the most attention, and each ends up stomping and screaming that Mom loves ____ better.

and on which I put my head into my arms and think loudly to myself Just shut the fuck up! which isn't what a  mom, who loves all of her kids desperately and equally, is supposed to think.

So I'm on my third cup of coffee (with chocolate Ensure), and hoping that will snap me out of this place.
And you know, I'm writing about this so you'll know that you're not the only one in a crappy mood. And if you're in a good mood, well--fuck you.

I JEST.
In a bad mood kind of way.
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Today I was supposed to be in a swim meet, but it was canceled due to low enrollment. I was planning on swimming the 100 fly--as well as the 200IM, 100free, 100 back and 100 breast. But I was most pumped for the fly. I think I can do it under 1:15 if I don't fall apart on the last length.

But now I won't find out.

I know I could just dive off the blocks and time myself. But it's not the same. I may do it anyway.  In a couple weeks I have another meet, but in this one I'm just swimming the 1650. I'm excited for that too, but the problem I have with the 1650 is that it means something. You know? It can be translated into a measure of possible swimming success or failure at any triathlon distance.  However, the 100 fly means nothing for our sport. It's a challenge--but whether I do well at it or not is in no way a measure of how well I will perform in the swim at IM or 70.3.

Yesterday Jordan swam in the final "championship" meet of the season. She placed third out of 12 kids in the 25 fly (8 and under) with a time of 23.8, and she was 8/67 in the 25 backstroke, finishing in 25.8. I think I was most proud, though, that she was selected to anchor the age 8-18 medley relay. The other three girls were 13. She looked liked a six-year-old lining up with them, but she held her own, stayed strong, and helped them to win the whole thing. She's pretty good under pressure. She swam 19 seconds for the 25 free in that relay, which is a P.R. for her.

I love to compete. I think I may like watching my kids compete even more, though. It doesn't matter how they do. I just well up with this enormous pride--that is MY child, and she has worked so hard, and can do this amazing thing.

This morning after I completely lost it on all three kids and told them to give me 15 minutes to myself  PLEASE, she (Jordan) went to the kitchen and made melted marshmallow, graham cracker, peanut butter and chocolate syrup swirls. She gave them to the kids, and left one for me on the counter.

I'm pretty sure I don't deserve her.
The irony is that she believes I love my other two kids more.

Weird how that is, and hard for me to understand.

My next post will be full of vim and force, b/c being Oscar can only last so long. Right?