I need a bigger fucking umbrella

20131010-090324.jpg
Image by RidiculousDream

After several days of hot and humid weather, it’s finally become cool and fall-like. Rachael spent the day at home yesterday, resting away from the Petri dish that is school, and trying to recover from her cold. I knew she needed to stay home and rest when I tried to coax her out of bed with the promise of getting to wear one of her new fall dresses and boots, and a small and anemic, No, came in response. Fortunately, while she was still stuffy and had a bit of a cough, Rachael’s energy had returned by this morning and was feeling well enough to go to school. This meant trudging out in the pouring rain to the bus stop with one girl who can barely manage the regular sized umbrella that is twice her size and another girl who has no problem with running out from under the umbrella I’m holding and stomping in puddles. By the time Zoë and I got home, we had soaked clothes and the need for one of those giant golf umbrellas.

The past couple of days has made me wish I had a giant emotional golf umbrella. Tuesday morning, after being up with Zoë for a few hours during the night, I was exhausted and in so much pain that I could barely walk.
20131010-094255.jpg
It’s scientifically proven that sleeping in the rocking chair like this is way more comfortable than in one’s own bed with a blanket and pillow.

Mike had pity on me and stayed to get Rachael ready and on the bus. He ended up coming home that afternoon and working from home because my walking situation wasn’t improving. I think the changing weather has been partially to blame. Colder weather makes my muscles seize up and my joint pain on par with most of the people who watch Fox News.

But stress has been the other culprit. With the morning had also come the realization, Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into?, with regard to Girl Scouts. The number of emails I’ve been assaulted with over the past two days has certainly reinforced that sinking feeling. One by one, each email revealed yet another piece of information or responsibility that the liaison had not bothered to tell me about. (Dare I say lies of omission?)
20131010-095710.jpg
“This deal is getting worse all the time!”

Mike even tried helping me wade through the mountain of rules, regulations, and procedures, and believed it to be a bunch of disorganized BS. Since Mike doesn’t have any boys to take to Boy Scouts, he is into this Daisy stuff hard. It makes me want to kiss him when he gives me support and helps me get my ducks in a row. (It makes me want to punch him in the head when he tried to guilt me into wearing the dorky leader scarf.)

The icing on the shit cake came yesterday morning when Mike called to inform me that his check engine light had come on on the way to work. A couple hours later he called to tell me that the necessary repairs were going to cost about two-thirds the value of car.

So I’m trying to take a low key me day. Zoë is doing her best to comfort me by constantly trying to occupy the same space, poking me in the eyes, messing with things she shouldn’t, and general orneriness. It’s. So. Fucking. Sweet. I’m trying my best to remain calm today, but it’s really not happening. As I feel my blood pressure rise, my stomach gets increasingly sick with what I’m convinced must be an ulcer. I’m trying to help it feel better by stuffing my face with Oreos, but it’s not working for some reason.

This is a whiny post, but I’m not going to apologize for the whininess of it. That’s usually someone’s inclination, to apologize when they share the pain and emotional car wreck they’re experiencing, if they share it at all. But it’s important to sit in these emotions and really feel them. Process them. Release them. For someone like me, with fibro, it will be worse if I don’t. Sometimes you just need to put the umbrella down and stand in the rain.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “I need a bigger fucking umbrella

  1. *hugs* Goosfraba…*patting your hand* all right enough of that…

    If you had thought it was going to be a walk in the park you would have been one of the twittering ninnies who didn’t pick up the damn packet in the first place. (if any said ninnies read this please understand I mean that in the nicest way possible). Co-leader my left …

    I’m not going to tell you to stop whinging (yes Harry…whinging) because I’m all for a whinge fest right now myself with the new job. (BTW there will be a full on Ben and Jerry’s laden whinge fest on Halloween day…9 days till we fly YAYAYAYAY!)

    Just know that its a thankless job. Its a bit like daycare. Running around like a headless chicken getting your ninnies (I mean co-leaders) to step up. Possibly daycare involving the great out doors….and volunteers…and cookies.

    If you keep it up, one day you will have a daughter who says, “Thank You”. I know I did. My parents – yes Dad was too (its a bit like a deaconate…you have to get your spouses permission, approval and full on support)- were Stalwart Leaders for most of my scouting days. Including Cookie Parents (from a town house), and Service Unit Leaders (when their sanity was well and truly gone). Seriously, reach out to them if you need a bit of encouragement. Its not like they’ve moved…well sort of. Just don’t be surprised when my Mom says “Words of Encouragement!” literally, she’s great but not a wordsmith.

    So sniffle all you want…I’m right here with you. Just remember when you’re done to pick up all your tissues ’cause “A girl scout always leaves a place cleaner than she found it!”

    eek…terribly long reply…sorry :-/

    • Thanks. I don’t expect thanks, just structure. Fortunately, the moms who were at the planning meeting have been really responsive. One has already signed up for first aider. Another for money manager. Still haven’t gotten my troop registered yet cause the registrar is not responsive.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s