I often feel guilty. I have a difficult time just being happy. I allow myself to be happy on vacations, when one is supposed to be. But regular days: it’s tough to slip below that thin but sticky layer of remorse.
Nat is back at the House; Max is going on a trip with friends. Away, away, my darlings. Wistfulness descends. I find nagging thoughts poking around in my head: Should have gone with Ned to drop off Nat, didn’t kiss him goodbye. Should take Max to the station myself. Should have listened more animatedly when he described that stupid movie, Clone Wars. Should have gone with Ben to the festival, rather than letting friends take him. Should make better, healthier dinners. Should spend less time on the computer. Should straighten out boys’ drawers. Vacuum the filthy laundry room.
Really, what it is is I should have just been happy when I was younger. When I was a young mother. A young woman. But back then fear ate me alive. And now guilt nibbles. I guess nibbles are better than being devoured. But when will I learn to just be in the now and not only when on vacation?