I had big plans for a cute post today. But instead, I'm going to ramble on about me. (Shocking, I know.)
I can't do it all. But I feel like I am killing myself trying.
I can't do it all, but I have to according to society's standards. WTF? I feel guilty because society deems that a working mother has to be a super mother? Sure I like the title, but I spent half the morning in tears, trying to be "super". And now I question if I am being too honest on my blog because it's no longer an anonymous thing, but people I know read it. And I wonder, what will they think of me?
I remind myself, that I don't care what people think. I do things for me. But still that nagging feeling of vulnerability creeps out and I am back to that place I don't like to be in. I try to count my blessings, but then I think - why hasn't the damn doctor's office called me yet? My house is a disaster, and we are having a picnic on Monday. Keith wonders why I stress over how the house looks when it's just family coming over, and he doesn't get that my house is a reflection of me. (At least to me it is.) Work is out of control busy, I'm applying for a new job, and tomorrow is Connor's last day in his preschool class, and I've yet to get teacher's gifts. I suck. Perhaps today would be a better day if the rain wasn't giving me a headache similar to a knife being stabbed into my left temple, who knows?
I keep repeating the mantra - I strive on chaos. I strive on chaos.
But I don't want to. I want to stay in bed all day and read my book while the imaginary housekeeper picks up everything and changes the sheets on the kids' beds. I want to sleep through the night without 1 to 3 children getting up for various reasons. I want the children to go to bed at a reasonable hour (and then stay in said bed) so I can pick up the house and still be able to sit down and watch something with my husband. I'd like my kitchen floor to wash itself. And the toilets too. I'd like Connor to try something new for dinner without whining and gagging. I'd like Keira to not use half a roll of toilet paper every time she sits on the toilet, whether or not she actually pees. And I'd like Colin to realize that even though I've gone upstairs, I have not left him forever so there is no reason to stand at the bottom of the stairs and scream for me.
For the record: I count my blessings every single day and thank God that I have those three little minions destroying my house every day. Just sometimes, I wish they wouldn't wreck as much havoc as they usually do.