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By Julie Grenness

Mia scrolled down the page, “www.tips for an awesome day today.com.” All this hyperactivity of self-help.

“Write in your journal.” This was after Mia was supposed to be exercising, eating plant-based meals with fresh-cooked vegetables, drinking vegetable juices, enjoying fresh air and sunshine, meditating, doing yoga and practicing deep breathing "while seeking the silver lining and smiling.”

“Right,” thought Mia, “one step at a time.” Mia opened her journal and started to write in it. “Wait a minute, Dear Holiday Journal,” wrote Mia. "This is my children’s holiday, day one. Maybe I should title this, My Torture Journal. It is only 5:30 a.m. Already the fruit of my loins, Bradley and Katia, are awake and squabbling over blaring TV cartoons and threatening to do vile things to each other. Hmmm, Dear Journal, sending them outside for fresh air is out, as it is pouring rain. My dearly beloved are going to be indoors for the next 17 hours until I can get them to into bed, hopefully with minimum tantrums.”

Breathing deeply, focusing on her inner calm, Mia meditated on the ruins of her children’s breakfast and decided not to bother dressing them for the weary day ahead. It was an indoorsie, pajamas kind of day. Day one of Mia’s holiday fun.

The hours rolled by. The television and DVDs alternated; the rain poured. Many snacks were consumed as Mia’s offspring raided the pantry endlessly. All the wrong carbs, naturally. Mia could see constant trips to the supermarket in her immediate future, just for more supplies of unhealthy calories.

Mia confessed to her journal that she had tried to hide in the toilet for five minutes of solitude, but Katia followed her there, while Bradley karate chopped the couch. Mia tried not to shed tears and resolved to stay firm with her smiles.

“Dear Holiday Journal, it is now time to prepare their dinner,” Mia wrote. "I am wondering now why I ever wanted to become a mother. My children are quite intelligent and quite correct. Kale and fresh vegetables are really disgusting as a food group. I felt exactly the same at their age.

“Dear Journal, this is a dreadful thought. I am breathing really deeply, but I realize I have turned into my own mother. She cooked healthy vegetables and tried to force us to eat them. She told her children to behave themselves, or else. I just told Bradley and Katia to behave themselves.

“I am only 31 years old. I do not wish to become my mother. This is scary,” Mia paused, but bravely kept on journaling her emotions. She noted snippets of her conversations.

“Yes, kale is disgusting.” “No, it is not my fault it is raining.” “Leave the cat alone!” “Yes, all right. You can both have chips for dinner and chocolate bars. I have stopped caring what you eat. You two have turned me into my mother.” “Why I am fat? Because I am your mother.” “Yes, of course I love you; I am your mother. Just stop crying and yelling.” “Who am I phoning? I am ringing Jeremy’s mother, so you can both have sleepovers there during the holidays." "That is a great idea, Bradley.” “Who am I ringing now? I am phoning the Board of Education and requesting that school holidays be banned forever. I am going to litigate if they don’t.” “Stop asking me dumb questions.”

“Dear Holiday Journal, “Mia wrote, breathing deeply,” this was not an awesome day.”

— Julie Grenness

Julie Grenness is a poet and writer in Australia. She’s a former teacher who now tutors and mentors young people.