So my husband knows more than anyone (yes, even ME) how my moods can change at the drop of a hat.......but he also knows how I have moods that just seem to stick with me like honey sticks to my three year old's face. The fun, slippery moods are here and gone so quick lately. The sticky ones are lots of sad, grumpy, or just ... meh.... days all strung together. I think that's why it's been so hard for me to get to writing this week. I like making people laugh and feel relieved that they aren't the only crazies out there, and I can't do that when I'm in a Sticky mood.
Writing has gotten me through some troubling times. Writing is a type of therapy for me, so I'm hoping that this will give me a boost. Whenever I put up a post it's like I'm putting it out there for everyone to see. I'm exposed and vulnerable, wondering if anyone will read it, care, love it, hate it, call Child Protective Services.... or Heaven forbid, UN-friend me (oh well).
Writing about my life, my experiences, my opinions is one thing, but writing about my feelings? My thoughts, my reflections, my inner workings of what makes me...ME? Feels like quite another.
Well I guess I'll just do what I do and JUMP.
On the outside looking in I'm doing everything I normally do the way I normally do it. I'm still the loving, caring, patient(to a point. Let's get real, here) mother I am. True, I haven't showered in three days, but I still have a little mascara left on my lashes and my hair pinned back. The kids have peanut butter from ear to ear, but they are smiling and playing "let's jump off of the stool and pretend to fly like Peter Pan and Wendy". They only fight and pull each other's hair maybe 20% of the time, not all day long like it seems to me. I'm run down not because I'm a bad mother, but because I've had two kids out of three waking up in the middle of the night with fevers and sore throats wanting ice water and to snuggle in bed, and "one more song, Mommy." The laundry hasn't been done because I hate doing laundry. I said let's get real, didn't I?
On the inside of my twisted, chemically imbalanced, crazy brain I'm a failure as a wife and mother and daughter and sister and neighbor.......The house looks like an episode of Hoarders. The children are heathens. The dogs are starving. The upstairs closet is unorganized. The laundry hasn't been done in three weeks and there's no clean underwear for ANYONE. The occupants of the refrigerator took first place at the county science fair. We ate potato chips and Gatorade for lunch and dinner was a complete and total PINTROCITY. (because I think my cooking is horrible, I have to find something on Pinterest only to ruin it because.....my cooking IS horrible.) So I'm running around trying to keep up with everything while feeling like a complete utter failure in every way.........might explode soon, but I'm a passive aggressive person, so I just soldier on without saying anything and continue to suffer and go insane in silence.
So the tired, run down, and yes, cranky Sticky mood clings on.
But, something I've learned from cleaning lots of sticky faces.....it comes off with a little warm water and soap.
Into the shower I go. Just 10 minutes is all I need. The baby is fed, the girls have chocolate milk, and I have my Orange Ginger body wash. 10 minutes. The kids will survive without me for 10 minutes. Breathe. Close my eyes and listen to the water pitter pattering against the shower curtain, let the warm water rain down and soak my tired hair. Feel the sweat and tears rinse down the drain with a sigh. 10 minutes. Wash the worries away, scrub the depression off my skin, let it all go down with the suds in the drain.
As the faucet screeches off I can hear the drip drip drip like a short epilogue to my escape. When I pull back the wet curtain and the cold air prickles my skin, I step back into the world and hear the girls playing quietly with their toys. After a deep breath and a mental re-set, I dress, dry my hair and slap on some mascara. Not because I plan on company, but because it feels good. With a little warm water and soap, the Sticky is gone for now. Ready to start over, ready to try again.
I can look at my daughter's beautiful faces and adore them again. Kiss their soft, crumb-covered cheeks. Hold their dimpled little hands in mine. Let the dishes wait because I'm snuggling with my girls while they watch Tinker Bell (again). Snuggle with my son as he wobbles his head and smiles up at me.
I'm a mother. I'm not perfect. I have limits. Sometimes I need to re-set. Sometimes I just need 10 minutes.
And that's My House in Real Life.
Writing has gotten me through some troubling times. Writing is a type of therapy for me, so I'm hoping that this will give me a boost. Whenever I put up a post it's like I'm putting it out there for everyone to see. I'm exposed and vulnerable, wondering if anyone will read it, care, love it, hate it, call Child Protective Services.... or Heaven forbid, UN-friend me (oh well).
Writing about my life, my experiences, my opinions is one thing, but writing about my feelings? My thoughts, my reflections, my inner workings of what makes me...ME? Feels like quite another.
Well I guess I'll just do what I do and JUMP.
On the outside looking in I'm doing everything I normally do the way I normally do it. I'm still the loving, caring, patient(to a point. Let's get real, here) mother I am. True, I haven't showered in three days, but I still have a little mascara left on my lashes and my hair pinned back. The kids have peanut butter from ear to ear, but they are smiling and playing "let's jump off of the stool and pretend to fly like Peter Pan and Wendy". They only fight and pull each other's hair maybe 20% of the time, not all day long like it seems to me. I'm run down not because I'm a bad mother, but because I've had two kids out of three waking up in the middle of the night with fevers and sore throats wanting ice water and to snuggle in bed, and "one more song, Mommy." The laundry hasn't been done because I hate doing laundry. I said let's get real, didn't I? On the inside of my twisted, chemically imbalanced, crazy brain I'm a failure as a wife and mother and daughter and sister and neighbor.......The house looks like an episode of Hoarders. The children are heathens. The dogs are starving. The upstairs closet is unorganized. The laundry hasn't been done in three weeks and there's no clean underwear for ANYONE. The occupants of the refrigerator took first place at the county science fair. We ate potato chips and Gatorade for lunch and dinner was a complete and total PINTROCITY. (because I think my cooking is horrible, I have to find something on Pinterest only to ruin it because.....my cooking IS horrible.) So I'm running around trying to keep up with everything while feeling like a complete utter failure in every way.........might explode soon, but I'm a passive aggressive person, so I just soldier on without saying anything and continue to suffer and go insane in silence.So the tired, run down, and yes, cranky Sticky mood clings on.
But, something I've learned from cleaning lots of sticky faces.....it comes off with a little warm water and soap.
Into the shower I go. Just 10 minutes is all I need. The baby is fed, the girls have chocolate milk, and I have my Orange Ginger body wash. 10 minutes. The kids will survive without me for 10 minutes. Breathe. Close my eyes and listen to the water pitter pattering against the shower curtain, let the warm water rain down and soak my tired hair. Feel the sweat and tears rinse down the drain with a sigh. 10 minutes. Wash the worries away, scrub the depression off my skin, let it all go down with the suds in the drain.
As the faucet screeches off I can hear the drip drip drip like a short epilogue to my escape. When I pull back the wet curtain and the cold air prickles my skin, I step back into the world and hear the girls playing quietly with their toys. After a deep breath and a mental re-set, I dress, dry my hair and slap on some mascara. Not because I plan on company, but because it feels good. With a little warm water and soap, the Sticky is gone for now. Ready to start over, ready to try again.
I can look at my daughter's beautiful faces and adore them again. Kiss their soft, crumb-covered cheeks. Hold their dimpled little hands in mine. Let the dishes wait because I'm snuggling with my girls while they watch Tinker Bell (again). Snuggle with my son as he wobbles his head and smiles up at me.
I'm a mother. I'm not perfect. I have limits. Sometimes I need to re-set. Sometimes I just need 10 minutes.
And that's My House in Real Life.
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