Recently we’ve been busy. We’ve been living our busy little lives where I pick up food off the floor a billion times a day in an effort to combat the constant threat of obese dogs that are under-walked and mightily overfed from dropped toddler foods.
I’ve been busy cleaning. Constantly cleaning the floors that are filthy with dust and dog hair and sometimes dog urine because Jupi is getting old and I can’t tell if he’s simply incontinent (which is likely) or because he’s pissed for lack of attention (also likely).
I’ve been busy thinking of all the to-dos and writing the lists to be done. And all of it… it’s just busy with stuff. Busy paying bills, doing laundry, going to the grocery store, changing diapers, washing dishes and changing more diapers… all to keep life going in a direction that is hopefully forward. The only thing that proves we are moving is how big the boys are getting and how many more lines my face captures and the constant addition of grays to my mane.
It’s busy. It’s hard. And it’s insane-making with these little guys.
Then this thought happened: recently I had a revelation that I might be a lazy stay-at-home mom because I have Thad in preschool four full days a week. This realization came to me when I noticed that I’m picking him up around the same time the parents who actually have jobs are picking up their kids. Then I started to feel like a real jerk and talked to the hubs about making cutting back Thad’s hours because why was he there for full days at 3 years old? Last year I needed it because we didn’t really have any other options, but this year I can handle it, right? I’m now a seasoned mama of three, three years and under, so I should have this.
I should, but sometimes I don’t. It’s insane-making. But then I miss him and feel guilty. However, I’m not sure if I’ll ever have this because things will constantly change. These boys (big and small) will continue to need me in certain ways and wring me out again and again. But this is just life. It’s never easy, certainly not pretty, but it can honestly be beautiful.
There will always be busy days and there are just more of them ahead. It’s just up to me to breathe through them and hope for the best. I can do my best, but some days hoping is all I’ve got. Most days I simply hope for Mark to get home. Then I hope for bed time (theirs and mine).
Last year when the twins were first born my best friend told me what her mom and her mom’s best friend used to do at the end of the day — they used to call each other and say, “No one died. It was a good day.” A few months back, while changing my umpteenth poopy diaper and trying to keep Kai from launching himself off the changing table, I said out-loud to myself, “No one died. It was a good day.” And then I thought, I’m here. This is my life and I don’t know how I’m doing this. I guess I’m doing this because Thad is in school and I’ve had my mom to help and run over like she did yesterday so I could go fill sandbags in the event our basement stairs should become a mini flash-flood zone today.
I really don’t have an answer to any of this.
I just know I’m tired.
And busy.
And blessed. Very blessed.
