Call from the school

I got a call from the school yesterday – Brendan has been skipping classes again, and when he is in class, he seems distracted. I’m worried this is the influence of a few new friends he’s made. He’s breaking away from being my little boy and trying to be something he’s not, to project this ‘cool’ image, I find.

His teacher says there may be a girl involved, and I have no idea how to approach the subject with him. I may just wait for his father. Gordon has been working later and later nights (or maybe it only feels that way, with the sun setting earlier) and it seems there’s never a good time to talk to him. He comes home, we have dinner, I do the dishes, and by the time I have a moment to breathe, he’s fallen asleep.

Really, though, what would I know about a boy’s infatuation? If the cause for this is a girl he’s trying to impress, I really don’t know what I could say to make him behave.

Just thinking about it has left me drained. I may take a walk and then turn in for an early night.

Like a diary

When I was growing up, the idea of someone being able to read my diary was the most terrifying prospect in the world. It seems a little strange to me, now, that I can put my thoughts and feelings in a place where the entire world can see it. I just hope Gordon never Googles me. Or my children, for that matter, though I think they’re more interested in their video games and Facebook to look up details about their mother.

I’ve been thinking more and more about this blog – maybe I should take it down. I sorely doubt anyone reads this, but the idea of it being found by my family is causing me undue stress. I haven’t experienced this kind of anxiety since we lived with Gordon’s parents, just after we got married. With him in school, I didn’t have very much else to do but to help his mother with the housework, and all the time I had to myself, I used to write my thoughts and dreams into a journal.

Of course, one day it fell into my mother-in-law’s hands when she was tidying. I had never been so embarrassed in all my life. She still teases me about it, to this day. Imagine how much worse it would be, if Gordon were to find it?

At the same time, having this account is a bit of a safety net. It’s nice to have something to do when I’ve reached that point where I just can’t wander around the house anymore, waiting to hear what Gordon’s plans are for the night and counting down the minutes until 4:00 pm. I honestly can’t say for sure whether I look forward to the time the kids get home, or if it just makes me feel all the more exhausted.

Sarah's got it, too...

The entire family’s caught Brendan’s cold, and it’s made Sarah incredibly grumpy. She was delighted not to go to school, but wasn’t very receptive to the idea of staying in bed all day instead of in front of the TV or her computer. She threw a bit of a snit, and wound up slamming her door to sulk. I tried to coax her out, but finally, I just had to leave her some lunch outside the door. It probably hasn’t been touched in the past hour.

Gordon, of course, went to work anyway. He said that if he isn’t feeling well enough to suffer the drive home in rush hour, he might just sleep in his office. It wouldn’t be the first time, but needless to say, I’m not too thrilled.

I expect Brendan to be unhappy when he comes home, too. He was angry that Sarah got to stay home, and he didn’t. I almost had to wrestle him out the door to get him on the bus. I even called the school to make sure he was in class – it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been caught playing hooky.

I’m hoping a pizza tonight will help smooth things over. I’ll have to call Gordon and grab his credit card number to place the order. I probably shouldn’t entirely assume he won’t be home, but…well, patterns emerge.

Brendan's got a cold

Another Saturday that Gordon’s decided to spend in the classroom, going over a Powerpoint presentation he’s been throwing together. I don’t doubt he has a presentation; he wouldn’t even come to bed for the past few nights. Exams are around the corner, he said.

With that much hard work put in, it seems a little unnecessary to have to go in, as well. It must be nice to be so dedicated to something.

I just asked that he made sure he could pick up Sarah from her friend’s house. If he isn’t free, I certainly can’t drive her. It makes me wish he was at least being paid for his supposed overtime, since I’m not much good without a car. I would hate to have to call her friend’s mother, asking her to come drop my daughter off. It’s a bit humiliating, needing to depend on another adult to get your own child back home.

Although, I can just imagine how a car drive with Sarah would go. She’s in that phase, now, where she thinks that everything I say isn’t worth listening to, because as a worldly-wise thirteen year old, I can’t possibly know anything that she doesn’t.

It’s almost nice, not being able to drive. I have the responsibility of the entire house on my shoulders, and being expected to be a taxi service just seems all the more exhausting. Trying to learn now would just be a hassle for everyone, I’ve put it off for far too long.

Brendan’s home, today – he was going to go to hockey, but opted not to because of a cold. He must honestly be sick, if he’s avoiding something he enjoys doing, though if he were feeling that badly I don’t see why he would be spending the day hunched over his laptop in the dark. He should be resting.

I’ll probably bring him some soup, in a little while.

Why do I have a blog?

I’m never sure quite what to do with myself, when the house is relatively quiet and the chores are done. I suppose there’s always something to do if I go looking for it, but truth be told, I’m not feeling quite up to par, today. My immune system is very poor, this time of year, and it couldn’t hurt to give myself some time to myself.

To be quite honest, I’m not sure why I created a blog. I know some people create them to talk about their hobbies – crafting, scrapbooking, whatnot. I’m not so interesting, I’m afraid.

I have two children, Brendan and Sarah. They’ll be fourteen in March.

My husband, Gordon, and I have been married for almost sixteen years. He’s a good father; he does the best he can, despite being so busy with work. He drives the kids to all their lessons and sports on weekends, then comes home and marks papers for most of the afternoon, unless he’s needed to prepare anything on-campus.

Which is increasingly since the beginning of this semester. I don’t like to think of myself as a suspicious person, but the years in which he’s had a female TA, he seems to find plenty more reasons to go back to work on the weekends.

I’m sure I’m being ridiculous.

Somehow, I’ve managed to waste a full half-hour just typing this! Typing must not be my forte. The school bus should be here in about fifteen minutes or so, so I should get off this computer to leave free for the kids’ homework.

Getting out of the house

We actually had quite the outing last night!

It’s so rare that we get to go out for dinner all together. Gordon called me when he was fifteen minutes away and suggested we nip out for something to eat, rather than have me go to the trouble of making dinner. It was a little aggravating, seeing as I had already started two dinners, but I packed things up, put them in the refrigerator, and spent the next few minutes bustling about, trying to make myself presentable.

It seems a little silly, to fuss so much just to sit for an hour in Swiss Chalet, listening to your children bicker and your husband sigh over the bill. Still, it was nice to get out of the house.

Home on time

Gordon called to let me know he would be home from work on time – a little sad, isn’t it? He’s had to stay late at work every day so often, we’re treating this as though he’ll be home early.

That means I’m going to have to scrap the roast. It’s already cooking, too, but it won’t be finished by the time he gets home.

Staring at a screen

I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels, sometimes, as though they just can’t do one particular thing anymore without losing control.

I was washing the dishes I found accumulated in Brendan’s room, and as I was scrubbing, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was so sure that if I scrubbed one more dish, I would break it over the counter.

I hate the idea of becoming one of those people who spends all of their time staring at a screen, but it’s actually more therapeutic than I expected.

Poor parenting

It’s appalling, how some mothers let their teens behave. I understand how they are – Brendan and Sarah are at that age, now, where the stern looks and counting down from ten don’t work anymore. Still, they were raised better than some.

If your children are racing around the grocery store with carts, knocking over displays and nearly crashing into other shoppers, I hope you re-evaluate your parenting tactics.