I just spent two minutes frowning at my computer and clicking aimlessly through computer tabs, trying to remember what I had wanted to do… What was it again? Oh yeah! Write a post about how I keep fooling myself into thinking I have it all together. Obviously, I don’t.
I could lay blame at the feet of my Type A personality. I have an inherent need for order and routine. WIthout it, I turn into a frazzled mess of a woman. Things all need to flow in a certain order, people need to follow my plans (ha, right…), and my surroundings need to be clean. My mind craves it.
If I’m truly honest with myself, though, it’s not my Type A self that’s driving my self-delusional “all-together” thinking. It’s my pride. God forbid someone should see my house a mess and call me out on it. What if someone saw how many Texas-sized flies are in my house right now? It’s got to be because of the dishes… And the pile of diapers in the baby’s room due to my lack of diaper trash bags will remain hidden behind a door. I don’t want anyone seeing that I’m less than completely together, because then I’m a failure as a mother.
I thought I was doing well this morning. I managed to drag myself out of bed without tears from kids sent back to their rooms or too much back pain from myself. I actually made something other than dry cereal this morning, even if it was just peanut butter-honey toast, and even if #2 didn’t eat it until noon. And, we headed to the park almost right after Sesame Street was done, with minimal belly aching or baby fussing. We had a great time, I admired my kids’ cuteness, snuggled with the baby, and dreamt a little bit about owning one of the cute houses that backs up onto the park. And then we headed home, where I got slow cooker jumbalaya started with #2’s (not-really) help. All together, right? I should brag about this on facebook or something!
But that’s so a lie… Sure, laundry’s being done, but my bed isn’t made (which is my religious routine in the mornings) and the clothes are all still in baskets. Sure, dinner’s being made, but we totally ate tortilla chips plain for snack while mooching in front of the tv and I just discovered that I burned the rice. The baby lost his paci and has been the cutest leech all day, thus making his older brother insanely jealous, slightly violent, rebellious, and clingy. There has been much fighting over my lap today. I had no nap, my attempts to clean were immediately overthrown, and the boys have been at each others’ throats for a few hours now. Second string (aka Daddy) had an exceptionally hard day on the hottest day so far of the year, so he’s toast. And I still have a few hours to go.
I have nothing together. My bra is crusty with milk. My bathroom needs to be cleaned. Sometimes I think my kids hate each other. I swear the baby waits for me to eat/need to pee/do something for myself and wakes screaming. I have nothing together, and I need to deal with that. I’ll still be working on schedules and cleaning and organizing, but I’m not at a point in my life where that will look at all like I’d hope for it to look. Things that would take a few hours will now take a few weeks. I’ll need to have back-up dinners. Naps are a must, as are early bed times.
And above all, because I have such a habit of getting caught up in the things, I need to remember that this too shall pass, and I don’t want to regret missing these special moments.
Burned rice is not the end of the world. Missing out on lego towers and snuggles and going with the flow of growing-familyhood is.