I was at a store recently, and I saw a beautiful sight.
It was another mother, completely losing her shit, because Child A wanted yet another toy, Child B was demanding chicken nuggets, and Child C had pooped his pants.
Mom was frazzled. Worn. Her eyes were tired. Her voice was annoyed. She might have been choking back tears.
This (familiar) scenario brought me such comfort, because I have totally been in her shoes too many times to count. In fact, I was just in her shoes 17 minutes prior to witnessing her train run completely off the rails.
There are times (a seldom few) when I think I am really cruising through motherhood. We have a routine that works. We have meals planned and shopped for. We have our schedule for the week. Our children are happy and well-adjusted.
Then, there are the times (like, most of the time here lately), that things couldn’t be more out of control.
Bedtimes are thrown completely out of whack thanks to Daylight Savings Time. My kids love going to bed in broad daylight…said no mom ever.
Thanks to a “quick and easy” DIY kitchen floor tiling project, we have not had an oven, stove, or dishwasher for weeks…which equates to countless (and expensive) fast-food and take-out meals, hand washing dishes or simply buying stock in paper plates, a kitchen floor that can barely be walked on, and my refrigerator just chillin’ in my eat-in nook, where the table should be. Construction dust lines every surface, and we are one trip to Lowe’s away from just throwing in the towel.
End of school year apathy has set in. Reading the little 10 page sight word practice book at night makes me want to poke my eyes out. Signing the newsletter envelope (ugh! every Tuesday!) feels heavy and daunting.
I have lost my patience too many times to count since Spring Break. That last cup of milk before bed. That plea for the $9.99 piece of plastic junk that my child must have or surely she won’t survive. That pile (mountain?) of laundry that doesn’t seem to bother anyone else in the house but me.
That time my husband inadvertently unplugged our deep freezer in our garage, allowing some pretty nice steaks to thaw and reek of rotting carcass.
And to top it off, we don’t have a free weekend until late June.
Do you feel sorry for me yet?
You shouldn’t.
We are blessed, and don’t I know it.
We didn’t have to put new tile in our kitchen, and we don’t have to say “yes” to plans every weekend and most weeknights. Our girls are healthy, and we are inching closer to Summer freedom each each day.
We are the ones who busy ourselves to death. In fact, I hate that word — “busy.” It’s not a good thing, in my opinion, to be busy.
To me, it refers to poor time management. Poor self-discipline. Poor communication. Poor planning.
When it gets to the point when your friends, family, and potential customers or clients start their texts, emails, or messages to you with, “I know you’re super busy right now, but…”, you know have a problem.
It’s a fine balance between appearing like you actually have plans and shtuff to do and giving the impression you’re about to pull a 2007 Britney.
So, if I am come across a bit like the gal above, I do apologize. I have been around enough to know that this is, indeed, a season, and we will find our groove again.
And at about that time, I will be ready for another baby, and we will hop back on the hamster wheel and pick up where we left off.
I write this post for no other reason but to give you a glimpse of my reality and help you feel a little better about your own, the way that lady at the store did for me.
And to leave you with this romantic text exchange with my husband.
