I try really hard to make the people in my life happy. This is most obvious with all the scheduling, running around and constant tugging at the plans for the day I do. I think of this constant tugging like I’m wearing tights that keep falling down. Today is one of those days when my tights have slipped clear on down around my ankles as I try to gracefully maneuver through a crowded party with drinks in both hands and a f*^$@**# smile plastered to my face. In simpler terms, by trying so hard to make everyone happy, I’m making no one happy. Along the way, I’ve started the cycle of yelling and then backpedaling. When my oldest daughter asked me what I wanted to do for New Year’s Eve, I couldn’t even answer her because I had no idea.
Of course, now it’s obvious. I want to drink a very good dry champagne until my conversation is as sparkling and bubble-filled as said champagne. I don’t know where I’d swill down the bubbly, but I don’t want to have to drive home. I want to be driven and I want to wear red lipstick.
Instead, I’m planning, planning, planning. I spent an hour or so on the internet trying to find an option that would make everyone happy. Instead I feel guilty and resentful. Everyone agreed that going to Vegas would be great. (Izzy’s one condition was that she gets to bring her friend Taylor.) Unfortunately, there’s no way we can go to Vegas. (Sorry Taylor.)
Scott’s sick. Amalia is wisely voicing no opinion at this point in time. I would really like to help Kristina (our Russian foreign exchange student) celebrate New Year’s in a big, splashy way like she does at home. We just don’t usually do that and all the swanky LA parties are 21+ or sweet deals for families with little kids. Teenagers who don’t sneak out to drink just aren’t accounted for. (Thank you Kristina for not sneaking and not drinking.)
So I took to my bed to pout, indulge in a little self-loathing and okay, I admit it–curse them all for expecting to get out and have fun on the holiday. If they could just all want to do the same thing. Or be passive enough that they really don’t care what we do. What do you do when you feel overwhelmed like this? Is it in the job description that I’m supposed to make everyone happy? If so, how often? Am I supposed to make them all happy at the same time? In case you have any of the answers to these questions, just know that I’m patiently sitting here, gritting my teeth waiting to hear from you.