I've Lost My Balance

So Becky over at Mommy Wants Vodka wrote this amazing post about guilt, trying to do too much, being out of balance, and using her husband's toothbrush. Which compelled me to comment with this:

"Girl, I’m so buried right now I’ve gotten to that place that says 'whatever dude, bring it on, one more thing added to my list is like spitting into the ocean, it makes little difference if you add a thing or take a thing away, I’m screwed no matter what.' And I’m a total loser for it. Everyone in Stepford is perfect or can at least pull off the appearance of perfect and I’m that girl whose car is always dirty, never returns the school’s mounds of paperwork on time (if at all), and every morning before school I’m always running around looking for someone a pair of clean socks, or underwear, or pants. My son said this morning, 'You know, mom, PANTS are KINDA KEY.' Yeah dude, I know… my underwear are inside out so yesterday’s crust isn’t irritating my vulva. I get it.

Then Big Daddy Boss chews my ass first thing this morning. I was all 'take a number and get in line. My car is in the shop, the foundation of my house is slipping into the neighbor’s yard, I have a plumbing leak in my powder bath, and my mom is coming for Thanksgiving.' Sheesh. The ultra rich always think their hang nails are bigger than, you know, MY MOM or my HOUSE moving next door, or a little thing called MY CHILDREN.

Hmmm. So yeah, that thing about my underwear being inside out? Not really like me to bust out with that, but yeah... that's been my day. As a matter of fact, let's look at my schedule from today a little more closely.

4AM I hear my dad upstairs which means he's awake. Which also means his arthritis is bothering him. Sometimes it just really sucks to get older. I worry about him until...

5:30AM Alarm goes off.

6AM I've made my coffee, loaded the chocolate milk cups for the kids and opened the back door for the dog. It's 45 degrees outside and windy. I'm less pleased than even the dog. This, however, explains my dad's arthritis.

7:30AM Both kids are awake and looking for various clothing. Some can be found in the dryer. Other pieces, like my son's pants? Stillinthemotherfuckinghamper.

7:45AM I scribble a note to my dad about the after school schedule. Scream to no one in particular that we're about to be late and begin to load the car.

7:55AM My daughter jumps from the rolling car and sprints to the building to avoid the 8AM tardy bell. We'll do better tomorrow. Or not.

8AM I pick up my son's friend for Jr. High carpool drop off. We're twelve weeks into the school year and I can no longer stomach the smell of Axe body wash. Those commercials where the girls go wild over the scent? Cougars are totally immune.

8:05AM I break the law by answering my cell phone in a school zone. I tell my mom I'll call her back as soon as I drop the boys. She's irritated. My boss calls three times in a row and then texts "answer". He's gonna have to motherfuckingwait until I deal with BB.

8:10AM The boys unload from the car. Arms, legs, backpacks, and musical instruments fly everywhere. I hand my son his freshly washed gym clothes. At least I got that right. A tender mercy.

8:15AM I tell BB for the third time in one minute that I DON'T KNOW WHAT MY BROTHER IS DOING FOR CHRISTMAS EVE BECAUSE I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO HIM SINCE THE LAST TIME SHE ASKED ME.

8:45AM Big Daddy boss' boss dresses me down. I nod, I say "Yes sir", I could give a shit.

The day passes. It sucks. I drink too much diet Dr. Pepper.

3PM I call my dad to remind him my daughter has tutoring after school. We discuss what a long day this makes for her. I feel guilty. Damn you, Dyslexia. My dad says he'll pick her up at 4PM.

4PM My dad calls to tell me tutoring isn't over until 4:30. We talk again about her long day and that my son will be now be coming home while he is picking up my daughter. Acid guilt burns my throat.

5:30PM My dad calls to tell me he has dropped my daughter at soccer. I sprint to the parking garage for the commute home.

5:45PM I call my son to check on his day, his homework load, and tell him I love him.

6:15PM I hit Taco Bell to grab dinner for my daughter. I wolf down a Burrito Supreme with extra sour cream.

6:30PM I pick my daughter up from soccer, she eats her quessadilla, and changes her shoes in the back seat.

6:45PM My daughter and I arrive at her basketball practice. The next hour is spent listening to two women discuss a third woman who has not "organized a single thing for the PTA, like ever." I hate them.

7:50PM My daughter and I arrive home. My son is practicing his saxophone. He's doing a pretty good "Smoke on the Water". My daughter hits the shower, my son and I attack Social Studies.

8:30PM My son gets in the shower and my daughter and I review the sound "wh". Whatever.

9PM My husband arrives home and makes the mistake of asking about my day. I try hard not to complain and leave it on the keyboard. Major FAIL.

God's mercy is new everyday.

I want that to be true.