Tuesday's Done
It’s 5:26 am on a Tuesday and I wake up to the entire right side of my clothes soaking wet; a little puddle underneath my right hip. My 3 year old, having recently “mastered” potty training snuck into my bed during the night only to set this very early and unpleasant alarm. She didn’t wake as I changed her and placed a towel over the wet spots then changed my own clothes but I couldn’t go back to sleep. Go figure. Something about urine makes a bed unwelcoming.
I guess she was resting up because later in the day she needed the energy to feed the dog a bunch of peanuts and candy corn from our “Fall snack mix bowl”. Did you know that German Shepherds, even shepherd mixes are prone to vomiting? It’s true. Drink water too fast: vomit. Eat food too fast: vomit. Eat candy corn and peanuts as fed to you by 3-year old: vomit.
She and the dog started a fun game of “Mommy finds the dog vomit” which today was bright orange and placed strategically around the house so as to make it hard to find yet SOOO easy to step in. Also, as a side note I’m out of both paper towels and any suitable dog vomit cleaner. Grocery day can’t get here soon enough.
The past several days I just haven’t had my act together because at the moment, I’m spread really thin. It shows in a big way.
When I get behind on housework, I don’t just get a little behind. It’s like the house implodes leaving piles of questionably clean laundry and used band-aids in odd and surprising places. I think when the kids make messes they do this on purpose because the sheer randomness of the mess leaves me to wonder exactly who did it. Well, joke’s on you, kids because at this point I’m just going to yell at EVERYBODY.
For the day’s accomplishments we went to dance class and to my middle child’s doctor’s appointment for his allergies and that is it. Nothing else. That is all I could master, all I could stomach. We were in a sea of dirty underwear and no one could find anything to clothe themselves with. My 8 year old is growing really fast and is suddenly too big for EVERYTHING; shorts, pants, socks?? Also, the 3 year old went from a size 8 shoe to an 11 overnight, almost literally. BOOM, you can only wear these sandals, sweetheart.
The sink was full of stinking dirty dishes because I had made tuna salad for my husband’s lunch. I don’t know how we got there but that’s where we were. By the time my husband got home on Tuesday I was almost fuming because I had tried so hard to get more done and NOTHING GOT DONE. The house was in worse shape than the day before. The kids were running around like they were on a Viking raiding mission. “Pillage and kill!”
So, here’s the thing. I’m always trying to find deeper meaning and learn from those tough days and difficult moments. That’s what we’ve learned from society right now, right? We are constantly trying to be better parents and friends and churchgoers and family members. We take bible classes on how we communicate and show others love; on how to parent our “active” (which is code for “good luck, mom!”) children. I’m a doer and a “tryer”, by golly. I have to have purpose and drive or I’m just a jellyfish. Who wants to be a jellyfish? They’re gross and they sting.
I was in the midst of trying to salvage my day and my sanity when my husband got home. I was apologetic; that the house was a mess and that the kids were being crazy, that I was disheveled and undone as IF he knew the picture of the day in all its perfect organized glory that I had in my head that was now absolutely bogus.
I knew we had skipped the majority of our schoolwork that day because things just didn’t go as planned and we had zero structure. “Zero structure” is like crack cocaine for my kids, addictive but produces seriously scary and erratic behavior.
I hadn’t showered assuming I’d have time to work out at some point and I stood there with my dirty-greasy pony tail and stained t-shirt as he walked through the door: our tall and handsome captain and (primary) financial provider that had just had a long day at work himself. I couldn’t possibly lean on anyone, let alone him. He had a hard day, too.
I couldn’t find one single meaningful thought in the midst of that. Not one. I woke up that day because someone peed on me for crying out loud and then I remembered something I told a friend one time. Sometimes things just suck. You don’t have to pretend like they don’t or explain that you wish they were better or prove to your friends or family that you really do want more and to be better; that this day does not define your intentions or your master-plan.
I said “take-out”, he said “ok”. I was out of the house in a blaze like a streaking silver bullet. I cranked that radio up and sang my favorite songs at the top of my lungs and rocked out in my mommy van. I brought back some seriously unhealthy food and let those stinking dishes sit a little longer as we watched a REALLY STUPID movie on Netflix in the living room.
Tuesday was not a great day. Nobody died. We’re all ok, thankfully. My problems really are quite small compared to some. Still, Tuesday was not great. I think it’s ok to say that and to feel that even though it’s hard for my Pollyanna self to accept.
As I sat in my daughter’s room that night she put her sweet little arm around my neck and asked me about the teddy bears I let her have that were mine as a child. I sat there in the dark of that room with her soft arm around my neck and had no regrets as she went to sleep rambling nonsensical things about my grandmother and the papa bear.
Some days are just subprime. It’s ok to say that. There doesn’t even really need to be a conflict, climax, resolution type of explanation. Sometimes things just suck. Go ahead and cry or drive to Pei Wei to buy expensive crab wontons (eat them with over the top splendid joy, by the way). They get better, they do. But you don’t have to pretend like everything is poignant or meaningful or even purposeful. I love my babies, they know that. Job done: Tuesday October 4, 2016. Check that off the list. Thanks, God for getting me to tomorrow!
*Pictured above is the playroom mid-mandatory-clean with both my boys "working". The dog is actually eating a lego or an avenger and there are REAL band-aids on the floor. They're not dirty, thank goodness, just used by a Band-Aid obsessed 3 year old.
