Just One Stupid Week

(Yet another image that will not get me on Pinterest.)

I found my happy again by letting go of a few things, like cleaning up the breakfast dishes.  


I was in a funk last week.  A funk so deep no one could really tell me anything to make it better.  A funk so deep that even the sunny, 80 degree weather couldn't help.  A funk so deep that even the cure all kitchen dancing couldn't help.


Nothing felt right from my pants to my feelings.  I was all kinds of off. 


I didn't feel good enough for anybody or anything.  The baby needed 100 percent of my time and so did my three other kids.  My husband needed at least 10 percent of my time to listen to his work stuff.  The house needed some percentage of my time to remain in a little bit of order.  There were a thousand other things that needed 50 to 100 percent of my time.  Now I may suck at math, but I know enough to know that's f*cking impossible.


Borderline insane suburban mother feeling pulled in a million directions. Ugh. I have become yet another cliched stereotype.  Lonely, but never alone.  Overwhelmed and full of guilt.



Love me some Lynette from Desperate Housewives.


It goes back to my strange reality that involves my ability to handle big life issues with grace and relative ease and strength. I'm pretty proud of that ability.  But god damn it, the day-to-day life stuff throws me for a loop.


And this parenting gig? Talk about a loop.  "I quit," I cried to my husband last week.  Of course referring to my job as mother.   


But I have to believe it matters.  I have to believe that all the dumb snacks I fix, calendars I organize, details I scrutinize, lessons I try to teach, words of wisdom I try to share--they matter right?  All the behind the scenes work matters right?


My fear is that the kids will forget all that and remember the sporadic funky weeks.  My fear is that they'll be broken like me.


Last Friday morning, after making the kids their special waffles upon request and helping them get their stuff ready for school, they pushed me too far.  The two older ones rolled their eyes about something and complained about the breakfast fruit choice.  "Forget it!," I screamed and dumped the plates in the sink.  "I'm done."


After a few minutes, I apologized for freaking out and "ruining their day."


"We're sorry too, but it's just one stupid morning," Lucy said.  


She was right, it was just one stupid morning, one stupid week.  We will be okay.  And there will be more stupid mornings and stupid weeks.  There will be more funks.  


And even though you can't tell me when I'm going through it, I know deep down, it will be okay.  So, I let go of a few things-like doing the dishes one day, feeling guilty and like I'm letting everyone down.  We all moved on and had a pretty wonderful weekend.

And I have to believe it all matters.