Now that there are only 7 short days left until Mohawk, Little Miss, and BB return to school, I am feeling very nostalgic, just like most parents.  The warm weather that allowed for playing in forest trails, running along the tops of hay bale rows, and playing with friends and cousins is slowly slipping away.

We are all looking forward to school: the kids want to see their friends and meet their new teachers, and I am looking forward a locked-down schedule. 

During my nostalgia, I have also come to a deeply sad conclusion. 

This has been, by far, the worst year of my life. 

Unfortunately, I am not exaggerating.

I know, "Debbie Downer," right?  It's not like I mean to be.

I'd much rather be Glad Gladys, Happy Hilary, Ecstatic Elsie, whatever...I digress...

You know when I mentioned at the beginning of this entry about playing in forest trails, running along the tops of hay bale rows, and playing with friends and cousins?  Um, yeah...

I didn't do any of that.  In fact, I barely watched my children do those fun, summertime activities. 

Yesterday, my husband volunteered to take our two young neices overnight.  I wasn't exactly thrilled (I wanted to grab his testicles and whisper death threats, actually), but I knew that it was our "turn."

Everything was going well.  The kids were outside playing after breakfast when I decided to join them.  I wasn't out there for more than 10 minutes.  I decided that it was all that I could do, but just before I went inside, BB turned to me and innocently said, " Mom!  This is the first time that you've been outside having fun with us."

Holy hell, what a guilt trip.  She didn't mean it as such, of course, but it struck me like a ton of heavy bricks covered with rusted steel spikes tipped in acid.

Okay, so sometime I do tend to exaggerate. 

My bipolar and anxiety disorders have robbed me of joyful times with children.  They have taken away memories that I can never replace.

Not only because I have difficulty pulling myself forward to make these memories, but also because it has been leaving large gaps in my my mind - my memory. 

I have been walking around this week feeling like I have forgotten half of what I did last week. 

I walked into the Little Miss and BB's room and saw that there were two beautfully colored pictures by their beds.  On closer inspection, I saw my name was signed. 

I have no recollection of coloring those pictures.

I asked my husband about it, and his reply was, "Yeah, you colored them the other night.  I thought it was weird, but I didn't say anything.  I figured it was keeping you quiet, so I shouldn't interrupt you."  - ha ha - Good one, shithead...

This morning I asked him what we did last night.  He cocked his head, and said, "You don't remember?  We made out on the couch like teenagers, quickly put the kids to bed, and made love like we hadn't in a long time."  His face flashed disappointment, sadness, and a bit of annoyance, before he composed himself: remembering that I have been upset about the gaps in my memory. 

Holy hell, did I feel like shit.  I mean, seriously.  If he would have said that he forgot the most passionate love-making session that we'd had in months, I would have gouged his eyes out with rusty spoons. 

Just kidding.  Kind of...

Anyway...as the school year approaches, I will do my best to make lots of memories with my children: hoping that I will remember at least a few snippets.

I don't seem to been getting my bipolar/anxiety under control (they take turns), and the meds just keep being added. 

Just hoping something will click soon....