I feel like no matter what I do, no matter how well I prepare for each day, I am completely frantic. I feel like I’m constantly in a race against time to try to get done what needs to be done before I pass out at the end of the day.
Every morning we rush around the house, trying to make sure everyone has what they need for the day. Sometimes we are successful and sometimes I go to work without my breast pump and have to leave at 3 PM for reasons that should be obvious without me having to state them. Other times I forget to wear any makeup whatsoever because I never remember to actually look at myself in the mirror while I help three other people get dressed and ready for the day.
No matter what, I am never organized enough to plan dinner for my family. You would think that after all these years, I’d come up with some sort of plan for an event that comes about every single day. But I haven’t. And apparently I never will because before I leave work everyday, I am hit smack in the face with the realization that my family is going to want dinner and I have nothing prepared. Weekends are no better. I still forget about dinner even on the days we’re at home. I have some kind of major mental block when it comes to dinner.
Then we get home, I throw together some semblance of a meal and the race is on. How much can I get done before I collapse (or fall asleep standing up)?
- Unpack lunches, bottles, book bags.
- Yell at everyone
- Make lunches and bottles for the next day.
- Try to remember who eats what (and who refuses to eat what) today.
- Because it’s certainly different than it was yesterday.
- Yell at everyone.
- Referee any number of fights/meltdowns.
- Ignore just as many fights/meltdowns
- Answer no less than 11,000 questions
- At least 2/3 of which are “Why?” and
- At least 3/4 of which end up with someone in tears.
- Try to justify skipping baths and/or stories and just sending everyone straight to bed. Feel guilty for even thinking this.
- Yell at everyone
- Finally get everyone settled and then try to deal with the overwhelming mom guilt as I think about how poorly I handled every aspect of my day.
I know that I’m not alone. Every mom (and dad) has just as much going on as me. And I’m not complaining. I’m beyond grateful that my life is as busy as it is. It means I have things to do, people who depend on me, healthy children who are capable of vocalizing complex complaints.
I just wish I felt like I had everything (or even something) under control. Like everything wasn’t about to spin out of orbit at any moment. I just wish I was better at this. At life.