I feel sick.

I’m tired and cranky and I can’t focus well.

I need to rest, but the demands on me over the next couple of months won’t allow it.

I don’t need to be taken care of, but I sure would like it. I want someone to whisk me away from my daily grind and pamper me until I feel better.

Being the mom and the dad both is a tough job. I’m exhausted. I feel like I have set limits with my children and their activities, yet I continue to feel overwhelmed with too much driving and doing. Sometimes I just need to “be,” not do. I’m trying to adjust my attitude so that if I find myself planning yet another Disney trip in December for cheerleading finals, I won’t be too much of a grouch about it. Last year, I felt like flipping off the next person who told me to “have a magical day.” I wanted to shove their Disney magic right up their money-making Mickey-Mouse asses.

My mother will arrive in a week or so. I wanted her to come for Thanksgiving. But now, the thought of another house guest is stirring up resentment already. I let her stay with me in my king-sized room the last two times, because we had just moved in and I didn’t want to displace the kids, and then because I was gone to New Orleans, so I was only there for a couple of nights. I think this time I’m going to put her up in Joey’s room, and he can sleep with me. He’s like a fly on the wall, and I think he’s well past his old habit of needing to spend his nights in my bed, so I’m not worried about a setback at this point.

My mother is no trouble. She doesn’t demand or ask for anything. She hardly moves at night, and aside from some midnight trips to the bathroom, I hardly know she’s there.

But I do.

Unless I’ve nursed you or I want to fuck you, you don’t belong in my bed.

See what I mean? Cranky.