Author: Robin Chartier

Self-diagnosis

I’m in a slump. I’m pretty sure I’m depressed. Not the depression that is accompanied by tears and sadness, but my old frenemy apathy. I’ve realized this week that I’ve retreated to numb, unfeeling robot mode again. The only emotions breaking through are irritation and exasperation. 
Everything seems like too much work and not worth the effort. Dinner? Nothing sounds good to eat so why bother cooking. We’ll call and order something or let the kids eat on base. 
Getting up in the morning? There’s nothing to do, nowhere to go, it is 100 degrees and 98% humidity so we might as well stay home and hibernate. Especially since all the kids want to do is lie around and watch TV anyway. 
I’m hoping this week, now that Ramadan is over, that I can find some things to do that will make all of us happy and that something will crack through this shield that causes me to be there, but not PRESENT.  
I’m fine. I’m sure this will pass. It’s just the soul-sucking mental and physical  exhaustion that comes with living overseas that rears its head every so often. I vaguely remember feeling like this last summer . . . And yes, the summer before that. Bahrain has been hard for me. I don’t hate it, I don’t love it . . . It’s just, meh. . . . Anyone else sensing a common theme here? 

At the movie Planes, trying to act my way into a feeling. The arguing over popcorn, sodas, and questions about how long until the movie starts aren’t helping. 

Bad timing

One of the casualties of our vacation was Camille’s sleep routine (rough as it may have been). She actually is sleeping until 7, which is great, but the price we’re paying is she doesn’t want to go to sleep at night. Mostly because of inopportune 5pm naps like this one.

She fell asleep just as we pulled into our parking spot on base — dead to the world. Head flopping as I carried her through the building, only stirring long enough to curl up into a more comfortable position as I set her down in the recliners outside of the boys’ TKD class. I guess tonight will be another episode of her famous “party all night sleep all day” routine. 

 

Quitter


I gave up on swimming lessons. After the one good day, the next two devolved until she was back to crying and sitting on the side of the pool. So I’m skipping next week and buying myself some peace and serenity instead. 
That’s the difference between #1 and #4. I would have gutted out every day and then signed Calvin up for the next session because YOU MUST LEARN TO SWIM! and if I quit YOU WILL NEVER LEARN TO SWIM AND YOU WILL BE 14 AND CRYING ON THE SIDE OF THE POOL! Poor kid.

I don’t know if it’s fatigue or perspective, but that 3 year old who held me in a chokehold until I saw stars is now a fantastic swimmer and can handle himself in both the pool and diving among the ocean waves. Camille at 3 is worlds ahead of where Calvin was as far as comfort in the water — I figure she’ll get there eventually too. It doesn’t have to happen today.

(This also explains why Camille is still in pull-ups — all the boys were trained by 3. I’m sure she could be, but I’m either too tired or too smart to fight about it with her. Inshalla, Inshalla it will happen.) 

Try, try again

So after a failed first run, I was done. Finished. Halas. But when I called Josh to say that I was going to write off the entire session of swim lessons because I didn’t have it in me to be Mom Of The Screamer At The Pool, he said he had talked to Camille that morning and she said, “I’m going to swim today.” Yeah, right. I’ve heard that one before. I handed off the phone to her and he must have said something like, “If I tell your mom to bring you to swim lessons and you don’t swim, she’s going to kill me, so you better not make me look bad.”
She didn’t. She even swam with a smile. (For most of it.)

Hallelujah that Mr. Joseph was in the pool and not me.
I mean, yes, it’s SUPER HOT outside (though I swear it’s not as humid as last summer), but the pool water is chilled which most people see as an advantage?!? I prefer my pool water to be body temperature so chilled pools are not my thing. Give me swampy warm water any day. 
She earned her ice cream today! Now I only have to think up 6 more bribes . . .
6pm — out cold for the night. At least until 2:30am when she woke up starving. 
Survival is letting your child eat cold chicken nuggets in your bed while you try to fall back to sleep before the wide-awakeness hits you too. 

zombie apocalypse

This is me after 15 hours of “sleep” (minus the several hours in the middle of the night that I was up with girlie). We went to sleep at 5:30 pm and I got up at 8am. It feels like I’ve been tumbled in the dryer and don’t know which way is up. 
Before vacation, I had the bright idea of signing Camille up for swimming lessons, thinking that 4pm would be perfect to get her out of the house during the sleepy afternoon time so she could get back on Bahraini time faster. Um, yeah. I’m an idiot. 
First problem: I had to wake her up from her nap to get dressed to go to the pool. Then she fell asleep again on the way. 
We haven’t even gotten out of the car yet and she’s crying: “I don’t want to do swimming lessons!!” 
This 
plus this = $40 down the drain
She cried the entire time and the teacher suggested I take her in the “Mommy and Me” class. I can do Mommy and Me all day long in our pool at home. She can blow bubbles, she can put her face in the water, and the whole point of swimming lessons for me is so that I don’t have to get in the pool myself. 
As soon as we left the pool, she was super happy. Of course she was. 
(To be fair to her, I know this joyful feeling well. It’s the adrenaline rush that happens when an anxiety producing event is behind you. Similar to how I used to want to kiss the ground when I stepped off an airplane.)
This is today in our pool.
Swimming, splashing, putting her face in the water . . . no problem!
I think this will have to count for swimming lessons for this year.