“Inertia: the tendency of an object in motion to remain in motion, or an object at rest to remain at rest, unless acted upon by a force.”
It seems I should have become accustomed to this state of existence by now. The day-to-day grind of my home has always moved quickly, Isabella came into this world in a hurry and her mind hasn’t let up for a second since. We flow quickly in and around her wake.
But this two-working-parents thing? Tough, yo. Ryan working 6 days/wk, most of those until 9pm, the Ladies requesting crafting and swimming and movie watching and dog walking and bread making, shuffling the deck of babysitters and sleepovers and laundry and commitments…all from this one momma strung right out from stress and lack of organization- this is too much. Something had to break. And it did. A few times.
My five-year-old daughter was at a sleepover where the police were called. Let that sink in for a moment. And then let THIS sink in: she is the one who informed me they were there. Fucking.Livid. The circumstances surrounding the why and the how are unclear but it’s no matter since she won’t be allowed to sleep over there anymore. (Can you sense my treading EXTREMELY lightly here? Attempting to be an adult says what?) Let me tell you this: I am a force to be reckoned with when it comes to my children. I will own you. Scratch your eyes out like a spider monkey or feed your soul to the devil, your choice. Don’t mess with my babies, Mama no like it. (Sidebar: instead of puking like I wanted to do, I drank my dinner that night. Coors Light is a fabulous meal replacement on short notice, FYI.)
So this week I decided to replace the negative with the positive and increase this momentum. We’ve set the wheels in motion for securing in-our-home daycare part time (sweet mother of pearl it’s about damn time. Abusing the hell out of our selfless family and friends has gone on years too long) for the school year. Ryan is anxiously pacing the halls in anticipation of a new job offer (sweet mother of pearl it would be about damn time the man was rewarded for his ambitions). And us marrieds sat down for a lighthearted discussion about house business. Can I just say how nice is it to be on the same page as your spouse 98% of the time? And that, during that 2% of the time you disagree, everyone takes his or her turn to bury the hatchet and trust the mind of the other? My marriage…it’s a great place to be.
I’m proud of us. I’m proud of me. In the past, these kinds of situations piling up would have brought me to my knees. But I’m a big girl now. Just rolling with the punches.