So, I'm sitting here blubbering because (strap into your seat belts please) I fought with myself for 30 minutes this morning about whether to get up and exercise or not, and by the time I did I only got 16 1/2 minutes in before I had to go for family prayer, and the kids wouldn't get going on their before school preparations, they grumbled over piano practice, complained about breakfast choices,
one was whining about what was available to take for home lunch, the same one had no clean clothes this morning and so I washed and was drying them, but the dryer is on the fritz and they weren't dry by the time she needed to dress to leave and we were running late and 
one was messing around and didn't have shoes on, and then the same one was messing around and didn't have her seat belt buckled (do we sense a theme here), and 
one started screaming that school started in five minutes and so I started backing out of the garage before the door was all the way up and couldn't figure out what I hit, but once I did, I said a bad word that my children have now been exposed to, and the garage door wouldn't close, so I had to leave it wide open while I ran the kids to school, then I came home and got the expected response from my significant other, which wasn't nearly as supportive and concerned about my mental health as I had hoped it would be, and today is just another in a string of days when I feel like it doesn't matter what I do, it doesn't make a difference, and it isn't good enough and doesn't change except to make me feel like I am eternally losing my mind, and forever a day late and a dollar short. I'm also writing a manual on "Creating Run-on Sentances." In addition, I am mad at myself for ignoring the little voice (hmmm, who could that have been) that said "hit the button for the garage door" when I walked out the door. I thought, "no, Gabby will take off running and I'll have to chase her to get her buckled in the car, so I'll wait until I get into the car to open it." 
It seems that the more I try to be organized, the less I am. The more I try to get things done, the less I actually do. It seems like there's no point in continuing to try. Then I came across this:
one was whining about what was available to take for home lunch, the same one had no clean clothes this morning and so I washed and was drying them, but the dryer is on the fritz and they weren't dry by the time she needed to dress to leave and we were running late and one was messing around and didn't have shoes on, and then the same one was messing around and didn't have her seat belt buckled (do we sense a theme here), and one started screaming that school started in five minutes and so I started backing out of the garage before the door was all the way up and couldn't figure out what I hit, but once I did, I said a bad word that my children have now been exposed to, and the garage door wouldn't close, so I had to leave it wide open while I ran the kids to school, then I came home and got the expected response from my significant other, which wasn't nearly as supportive and concerned about my mental health as I had hoped it would be, and today is just another in a string of days when I feel like it doesn't matter what I do, it doesn't make a difference, and it isn't good enough and doesn't change except to make me feel like I am eternally losing my mind, and forever a day late and a dollar short. I'm also writing a manual on "Creating Run-on Sentances." In addition, I am mad at myself for ignoring the little voice (hmmm, who could that have been) that said "hit the button for the garage door" when I walked out the door. I thought, "no, Gabby will take off running and I'll have to chase her to get her buckled in the car, so I'll wait until I get into the car to open it." It seems that the more I try to be organized, the less I am. The more I try to get things done, the less I actually do. It seems like there's no point in continuing to try. Then I came across this:Even if our efforts of attention seem for
years to be producing no result, one day a light that is in exact proportion to them will flood the soul-Simone Weil
So there it is....my "angel with the cattle-prod" (thanks for the phrase, Dad) that will somehow keep me going. I don't know how, I don't know why, but if I can just keep going and remember to find joy in the journey, maybe I'll make it. Maybe the "lights" of these 6 dancing princesses will one day reflect my pitiful efforts.
OK, I've stepped back from the edge. Blogging must be good therapy.
1 comment:
Jen,
Thanks for the pick me up. Blogging is not only good for the writer but those who have the opportunity to read it. Thank you for inspiring me to keep going. Love you, Mel
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