I am so tired.
Okay so I don’t want to say I made a mistake.
But I think I made a mistake.
I am too tired.
If I wake up at 5am, clean, make breakfast, get Rocket up, get Ava ready for school, start homeschool by 8am, put baby down at 9 or 10am, continue homeschool, take a shower, leave for grad school at 11, go to classes, study between them, race home, make phone calls on the way home that I’ve been neglecting for too long, get home, see kids, feed kids, bathe kids if they stink, put kids to bed, read, study, work from home (oh yeah, I’m doing that too), write, get to bed by 11pm – and actually SLEEP, I can usually manage to get up the next day and start all over again.
BUT, as you know from this post, most of the time it’s “go to bed at 11pm and realize you can’t freaking sleep because there is too much on your mind and you can’t stop reflecting on how you’re totally not meeting any of your kid’s needs on any level in any way and pretty soon the ball is going to drop and Ava is 9 which is almost 10 which is almost 12 and everybody knows 12 is the beginning of prepubescent insanity (so you’ve lost her) and Rocket and Georgia and AND…it’s pretty much all going to hell in a handbasket. The end.”
Irrational nutjob am I.
Seriously, people. What the hell was I thinking?
I want to go back to the office, where it’s safe.
I want to drop my kids off at school where they become somebody else’s problem (did I just say that out loud?).
I want to sleep at night like I did when I was a kid and my head would hit the pillow and immediately. I’m gone.
I want to not suck fear all the time. Like air. Fear of failing. Of letting kids down. Of missing my life. Of bad grades. Of regretting. Of not getting a job. Of totally and completely blowing it for real.
I want I want I want I want.
I sound like a spoiled kid.
Because the truth is, I’m living the damn dream. I’ve never had it so good. My fears are inventions of an overtired brain. The death-and-doom scenarios concoctions of a hyperactive ego.
Shit, I’ve already totally and completely blown it. And YET, I’m fine.
[Of course I’m using that term loosely.]
Which reminds me, I heard this woman say she has two prayers: one for the morning and one for the night. In the morning it’s “Whatever;” in the night it’s “Oh well.”
Now that’s some spirituality I can get behind. Bring it on, life. Whatever you got. And then, at the end of the day, acceptance that nothing ever goes as anticipated. Oh well. Over it. Movin’ the hell on.
And then, perhaps, rather than my panties getting’ all knotted up and keeping me awake all night, I could let go and my head would hit the pillow and immediately. I’d be gone.
Because seriously people, nobody respects my visions. And they aren’t even big.
Take this evening, for example. I made carnitas. Wow. Real food, at dinner. Mac was coming home from work – I was home – I was not doing something more pressing. Soooo, being the superstar mother that I am, I decided that we would, for a change, eat a real meal at the table together as a family (this used to be something I was adamant had to occur every day – but now, I’m lucky to get it twice a week, which I’m sure will contribute to the early degeneration of my offspring, a theory that torments me, nightly, at approximately 1am) – and, back on track – so I’m making this dinner and puttin’ in the effort and being cheerful and whatnot and the 9-year-old, well, she decided to have one of her 9-year-old episodes.
She was horrendous. Full of drama and self-pity and nobody can say anything right and she’s about to slaughter her brother and me in fury (for some reason) but then it’s tears and I’m trying trying trying to fix it but I cannot. I attempt jokes, fail. Strong hand, fail. Fail. Fail. So when Mac gets home I’ve quit trying, everybody’s pissed and the baby’s crying and I’m about to chuck carnitas at the cat and Rocket’s putting his Legos in his milk (my attention was on Ava, remember?), so we sit and eat our food in irritated small-talk and all I want is to get it over with so I can read the 75 pages I’ve got looming. For tomorrow.
Do you see the beauty of those two simple words?
OH fucking WELL.
(Okay fine, three.)
Actually, I can think of three more: We will survive.