This Is Me Maria

I drive a red Prius instead of a van now, but it looks and smells like a soccer mom in here. Practice Tuesdays, clinic on Thursdays, game on Saturday mornings, micro soccer also some how on Saturday mornings. Emails that all 20 people “Reply All” to - going back and forth just about every day.

When I’m not in the office I’m glued to my iphone trying to answer emails and cross things off of my ever growing to do list. Trying to find to time to do anything else but play catch up is just about impossible and school hasn’t even started due to the teacher strike. So of course PTA and Health Committee stuff are just waiting to pounce.

I’m taking the fall off from school so as not to overwhelm myself and so we can pay for a new bed again. (We are going to get a real king bed with no grand canyon in the middle and let the kids have these.)

Every Wednesday I rush off to the other side of downtown Bellevue to see my therapist after work. I always feel more distorted when I leave than when I got there. I feel like a crazy, spoiled person every time I go there. I feel like I’m going to get help for petty problems as I pull into the lovely office park. I’m not starving, dying, diseased, or ill! I think to myself as I sit down on her white couch to tell her about how busy and stressed out I am from being a working, sometimes in college, house is forever being remodeled, soccer mom.

Oddly though, I find myself more content rushing around like a some what crazy lady. It is kind of like a video game where you have to get all the points as you overcome various obstacles like shin guard chewing dogs, missing shoes, and those stupid weeds that keep coming back. I throw my head back and laugh as my husband says he’ll be working all weekend.

When I was a little girl, my parents made me take piano lessons. I didn’t want to, especially since they wouldn’t let me dance anymore. Dance lessons were expensive and we were poor. We lived with my grandmother who has a very old tall piano in her home.

Just the other day I was listening to some songs on the little piano on my iphone (insert snicker) and I realized how much I missed having a piano to play on.

My parents used to say that I would be glad they made me learn how to play one day, and they were right. It is too bad I don’t have a piano to play on.

I am so ridiculous, if it was just me running the show here and no husband to defer to I would sell my van to buy a baby grand and put it in the living room and put the big couch downstairs. I’d walk or take the bus everywhere.

It is okay, you can laugh.

Me (sound of keyboard as I hammer out an email): clack, clack, clack…. clack. clack, clack.

iPhone (as I receive a text message): Ding!

Stupid bitch: Is it time to take your medication?

Me (in my head): No. I’ve stopped taking it so I’ll have an excuse when I bitch slap you.