Why I Need Therapy

It has been raining non-stop here in Small Town. We are seriously considering fitting our two-story brick house with pontoons to keep it from floating away into the swamp that is our yard. The other night, there was another is a long series of thunder storms with some high wind (but no tornadoes. Whew!)

As this had become such a common occurrence, I didn't give it another thought when I got up on Wednesday to take Z to school. I had gotten up early and actually put on make-up and (sort of) did my hair because I had to have my crazy meds checked a mental health check-up an appointment with my shrink scheduled at 8:00.

It was the usual mad dash to get everyone up and dressed and out the door. Z kept trying to read books or play dolls instead of getting dressed and Q flat out refused to get out of his pajamas. His black and orange Halloween pajamas. (What? It was laundry day!) When I finally got everyone corralled and in their car seats, we head for school in heavy rain.

When we pulled up to the school, it was strangely empty. And dark. It was kind of surreal. Like that dream where you study really hard then show up and they changed the test location and forgot to tell you? The power was out. The administrator of the school came out and said they couldn't take any kids because it was hot and dark inside and to call back in half an hour.

Half an hour? But I had to see my shrink! There was nothing for it but that I take them both with me. (You still have to pay if you cancel without 24 hours notice.) Q comes with me to most of my appointments. He is generally happy to sit in his stroller and is a man of few words. But Z? Not so much.

Imagine this: you walk into your shrink's office and sit down opposite her in the matching wing backs. She starts asking you questions about how everything is going with the husband gone? Are your moods stable? Any stressors? Meantime, your kids are climbing all over her office like monkeys (Q followed Z's lead), pawing the decorations, pulling on cabinet doors (and pulling one of the handles off. Shame.), opening closet doors, and crawling in and out of my lap. At one point, Z stationed herself directly between me and the doc, blocking my view of the doc and talking over me as I answered questions.

And I was all, "Children, please come over here and color! No, no! Those aren't for you! Please say excuse me! Mama is talking to the doctor right now." in my sweetest overly high pitched parenting voice, when I wanted to be barking orders like a drill sergeant. But really? Who wants their shrink to see them yelling at their kids? And trying to discuss what might be stressing me out with Z's big ears listening to every word? Not happening.

We got out of there in record time. I am surprised she didn't double my dosages.