illusions and realities

so here I am, momming for the summer again. like everything, there's pros and cons. I get to laze around more than if I had a consistent day job. I make a lot less money. I can't go the places I want when I want. I get to stay home. it's the ultimate balancing act between the fighting sides of my personality and it's draining. and pretty boring. I hope this thing becomes, not more glamorous, but at least more enjoyable, more fulfilling, when I have my own kids. cause these brothers just don't feel worth the monotony. I don't know if I would sacrifice career, travel, learning, or more tailored personal fulfillment for them.

I do like cooking, but not under pressure or without thanks. or worrying about the appropriate quantity of onions. I like my dog, but not putting her out five times in ten minutes or waking up three times to put her back to bed. I like my brothers, but not bossing them. I wish I could imagine a day of jeffrey's life where I didn't have to squeeze the toothpaste or micromanage every moment of the day. if I don't, he'll scarf ten cookies before breakfast. it's more tolerable when the recipient is 3 but infinitely more frustrating when he's 13 + 3. 

I like mothering. I can't help worrying for my friends and wanting to take care of them, make sure they're safe. I'm a fierce defender of jeffrey. I would punch someone out (and consequently get beaten to a pulp) for him, though I use my wits and words more often, to greater effect. but there's an indefinite distance between being sister and mom. between going out with them, teasing, exchanging levels of immaturity, but always ready to fight, defend; and sending them off to school and waiting, waiting, feeling the worry like a constant shadow, a steady pressure on the lungs, barricaded by definition behind sheltering walls that rise taller and taller to cut off even the whisper of a breeze.

am I being too dramatic? 

I'm going to die of hypertension, product of a bizarre internal melodrama.