Friday, June 19, 2009


All I had left was the laundry and the kitchen/dining room area. Granted it’s one huge area, but still, that was all I had. So I set to work and it went something like this:

Me: Work, clean, scrub.

Sierra: “I’m hungry!”

Me: “Find something to eat.” Work, sort, pitch.

Sam: “Can I have fish sticks?”

Me: “Sure.” Work, wipe, sterilize.

Michael Jr.: “Can I sell my GameCube?”

Me: “Ask your dad.” Work, sweep, mop.

Josh: “Yellowsicle! Yellowsicle!”

Me: Work, dust, vacuum.

Kenny: “Mom! Look at this Mudkip! It evolves into Marshtomp. That one evolves into Swampert.

Me: Work, smile, nod.

Sam: “Can I have some pancake stuff to dip them in? Syrup?”

Me: Pause. “Huh? No!”

Sam: “Can I at least have some cinnamon?”

Me: Blank stare. “No. No, no, no.”

Sam: “Mom, I feel like you’re evil.”

Sometime in the middle of all this starting and stopping I received a call from Jason Lee Elementary. They needed the kindergarten registration papers they made me bring to Jefferson Elementary a month ago. Sam’s approved to go to Jason Lee again next year but each year we have to go through this song and dance, getting permission. And of course, while I’m out I remember a birthday party tomorrow and a gift I haven’t purchased. Oh and we’re out of milk.

I get it all done and head home to continue fighting the good fight. I have faith. I can do this . . .

and . . . *POP!*

The game of Perfection I was shooting for fell short as I hear shouts of “Holy crap!” ring out through the air. Yeah, that’s right.

I run to see that Josh has taken baby powder and toothpaste to the carpeted stairs. He smiles sheepishly at me and then high tails it out of there. Two steps forward, ten steps back. I still have four loads of laundry waiting in the basement plus part of the kitchen but attention must be turned to the carpet.

There are days like this when I bite off more than I can chew. When the stars (or my children) seem to align in just the right configuration to completely undo me. I picture myself running up the down escalator.

Then Michael calls. He asks how I’m doing. I choose wrong and I unload on him. I wish I was a better, stronger woman who was capable of just reigning it in a little tighter. Able to smile and say I’m great. But again, I’m totally not. He talks me off the ledge, tells me it’ll be fine. And he probably has no idea how much I need and appreciate it.
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  1. Sound like Mommy needs a time-out. Not the time-out like the kids get where they are sitting on a chair or secluded to a remote part of the house to 'think about what they have done' but a 'barricade yourself in your room with a good book, drink and the best chocolate' (or sugary treat) kind of time out.

  2. Some day you will look back and miss this part of your life!!!!

  3. Oh,I have had those kind of days! When the girls were little, I remember calling David at work a couple of times and telling him if he wanted his children to be alive much longer, then he needed to come home and get them!


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