I’m sitting here at my desk having “alone time”. My super-husband here gives me time every couple of weeks to breathe my own airand supposedly accomplish something uninterrupted (somehow that still doesn’t exactly happen). It’s the difference between doing the things I hate to do and responding with grace to life when it hits me…or hits the fan.
But here I sit, sighing. Having another moment where I wish I could cry, so people know that I’m feeling a bunch of stuff in here! I’m not much of a crier. (I think my Pastor would beg to differ but the poor guy only seems to run into difficult conversations with me when I’m pregnant. Did I say poor guy? Yeah, poor guy.)
These tearless moments of emotion are becoming more frequent. I’m supposed to be sewing. Sewing what? What a frivolous use of time when there are weeds to pull, exactly 137 toys not where they belong and building projects I could be working on. Even in my office there are more than a few things that could use my attention.
So what’s the matter you say?
I just feel like I can’t get there. I can’t get caught up. I don’t expect to have everything done.
I mean I’m not crazy…
Maybe I won’t go so far as to say that.
But there’s normal behind, way behind and then there’s something else. Like, pour-me-glass-of-apple-cider-mama-gives-up behind.
We’re getting close.
When I write it all down it looks doable. (I’m a mega list writer. Lists, lists everywhere!) But I don’t know exactly how to get it all done and live.
In my over-thinking brain, I think I can take time to show my children that I care about what’s important to them and still get the chores done.
I mean, I’ve never had any high hopes of a perfect house. I didn’t get that DNA, sorry.
Actually I’m not. I like our beautiful, lived-in look.
What I can’t figure out is: why can’t I just get there? I’m not dreaming of a life of ease here. I’m working toward working more. I just want to work hard so that I can enjoy and be generous with the fruits. But if I can’t get these stupid piles of other tasks taken care of, I’ll never get that beautiful romanticized hard work I’m actually looking forward to.
I keep thinking I just need to get my brain to work like those administrative people or figure out some new system for this or that.
I don’t need coddled, I probably just need some sleep. But that’s where I’m at today and writing is how I sort it all out.
And that’s the end of the story.
Except that two of my favorite grown-ups conspired to make sure I had delicious gluten-free pizza and a fresh bouquet of flowers on my table today. There’s always sunshine isn’t there.
Ok. That’s the end of the story.