Too much information?

Remember when I used to blog?  Remember how it was sarcastic and light and fun to read?  I think I have been having a hard time the past few years feeling light and fun.  Maybe this explains why I stopped blogging.

Those that know me know that we have been through a LOT the past few years, and I think I really am starting to notice what a negative impact I have allowed our struggles to have on our lives...and that makes me really disappointed in myself.  (Have you caught on that this will NOT be one of those light, fun posts?)

Today at work, one of the speech therapists brought up a patient to check out and pay her copay.  As part of this patient's therapy, she had made a list of things to talk to me about and her therapist stood there to make sure she remembered.  At one point, the patient started to launch into a personal story (that totally applied to what we were talking about), and the therapist stopped her and said "Too much information!"  I know this was a part of her therapy- something they had been working on together- but it just didn't sit well with me.  It made me feel sad and uncomfortable.  I can be a bit of a talker (and sharer of personal information), myself, so I felt a little defensive.

I mean, what is so wrong with taking the time to listen to a little story someone wants to share?  Honestly, I'm kinda bugged that I didn't get to hear how it all played out.  She was telling me about putting in eye drops and losing her balance...then the story ended abruptly with "I got a bruise" when the TMI warning was given.  We are all so busy and impatient and focused on our own time constraints that we don't allow ourselves time to be human!  I could go on and on about other things that are ruining our humanity (Facebook, texting, etc...), but since I'm such an offender, I won't get on a soap box.

I was still kind of thinking about this throughout the evening, even as I sat on my bed checking emails and yelling directions to my kids to get ready for bed.  But when I glimpsed my little girl in the mirror of the bathroom across the hall, brushing her hair and quietly singing to herself, my heart broke.  How is this any different?  I come home, exhausted from work, and selfishly want to crash on my bed and veg out while my kids take care of themselves.  They are mostly self-sufficient, but does that mean they no longer need me?  When did I stop brushing Hazel's hair?  When did I stop singing them to sleep?  Reading a story?   When did I become so impatient with their long, run-on stories about every little detail of a video they saw or a conversation they had that day?  When did I start treating all their treasured words and actions as TMI? 

Yes- our lives have been really tough lately, but why should THEY suffer?  I can't keep beating myself up about it, because I know that won't help, but I stood up from the computer and made sure our night ended on a positive note.  One day at a time, I'm going to make it better.  I'm going to erase their memories of my selfish neglect and replace them with happy ones as much as possible.  That's possible, right?  RIGHT?!?!