Do you know those liquid golden sunshine days when everything is good and simple and easy? You hug your babes in tight and whisper into the ear while breathing in their sweet baby goodness.
Yeah, today was NOT one of those days. It was at least 47 miles and three continents and an entire bag of Doritos away from that kind of day.
IT'S HARD. Life. Mothering. EVERYTHING. And then sometimes HILARIOUS because it's so hard --but not until much much later. Like- it really SHOULDN'T be THIS hard. And WHY is it this hard anyway? Tiny little people who need to eat and poop and play and get bathed sounds incredibly simple to my ears. But it's hard. Did I mention that part yet? So hard that you constantly and INAPPROPRIATELY use CAPS so people know you are YELLING about how HARD it is.
I read today that breathing is the bodies number one priority. The good part is our body does it all on its own, but sometimes we get in the way of how things are SUPPOSED to go. We forget to breathe. I realized I was forgetting right now. First, let's remember to breathe together right now.
Deep breath in.
And out with a WHOOSH.
(I'm serious. You have to do it too. I'm doing it and I don't want to look like a fool. I want to hear your whoosh).
Deep breath in.
Okay, so today was hot. Crazy hot. If I was practicing grateful -today I would have been so happy that we have air conditioning. However, I wasn't. I was annoyed that it was so hot that even my underwear was sweating. And I didn't want to do anything but watch Lifetime Movies in the air conditioning. And kids HATE doing that apparently. And as I begin this post at 7:14pm it is still 102 degrees. Michael is out of town. I can hear my boys laughing and playing outside with the sitter and life is good again. But just hours earlier it was too much. The boys were swimming in the pool. Parker wanted out and Grey wanted to stay in. I stripped Parker of his trunks and let him run around in the yard nudie style. And then he pooped. And was holding it in his hand. And the flies and the heat and just- yuck. So I scooped him up holding him as far from my body as I could so the rapidly vapor-creating poo didn't get on me. But I couldn't leave Grey in the pool so I called for him to come inside. "Time to get out Grey", I said nicely for the first 337 times. By time number 387 time I was homicidal. "GET INSIDE", Screamed the demonic Mommy Monster. "NOWWWWW!!!!!" I would have called the cops if I had heard me. Or called for an Exorcist. Next scene- wet foot prints, filthy kitchen floor, stinky three year old in the kitchen sink. "All I do is clean" I muttered angrily under my breath.
Everything finally got put in its place-ish- or at least things were sanitary and we went outside because we thought we heard one of the trash trucks. (We have three- Recycle, Trash and Green Waste (Frank). We waited for the truck, and Parker wouldn't stay anywhere near our yard. Further and further down the street he went. And Grey was going the opposite way (always). "Let's go inside and wait for Frank" were my last words as I scooped up both kids who were screaming and crying that we had to go in. I get us all inside and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is wet with sweat and extremely frizzy and curly in places and bone straight in others. The ridiculous amount of makeup I tried on this morning at Sephora made me look like a scary melty clown whore. I've already been feeling terrible about myself and this just added to it. Last week I went with my friend Annie to get a pedicure. She brought her baby Sawyer and I was loving on him.
"That your grand baby?" The woman doing my nails asked.
"My what?" I ask slowly, extremely confused. Obviously I misheard her.
"Your grand baby?"
"My grand baby? NO." I say sternly. "That's my friend's baby."
The reality fully hit me. "YOU THINK I'M A GRANDMA?"
"My Mom your age and have 7 grand babies. She 50."
"YOU THINK I'M 50? And a grandmother?" I say with eyes saucer wide.
"No- I say you a grand mom because you so loving with baby. It compliment."
"HOLD ON. You think I'm 50? I'm only 40. I'm not 50. I'm 40. I'm NOT a grandmother"
"No, you look good for your age. It compliment." She squished her whole face into a plastic smile and nodded up and down.
"Yes, I look good for FIFTY the age you think I am. Which I am NOT. I am 40 so I look terrible for my age. NOT COMPLIMENT."
We went back and forth like that a few rounds. Since then I've asked 763 people if I look like I'm 50. I tell random strangers in line at the grocery store in the hopes that they will make me feel better. They lie and say I don't look 50 so clearly they can't be trusted in the first place.
So this afternoon we went back outside and caught the tail end of the Recycle truck.
We ran after him and played outside for a little bit while we all got increasingly hot and cranky.
By 3pm Frank still wasn't here- he texted me to let me know he was running late. We couldn't do it any longer. I told him we were all going inside to take a nap. God must have known I meant business because all three of us napped and that hardly EVER happens.
And just like that- I woke up and my day was reset. I looked over the pictures from above and suddenly even the poop story from this afternoon was funny. I love when that happens. People talk about how great an EASY button would be- but I'm perfectly fine with a reset one. And maybe one more button that reminds me to breath too.
And next time you are having a wicked bad day- just remember you are certainly not alone.
We're here too.
PS- I've lost the blogspot! Don't worry- your old book marks will still work though. Now it's easier to remember.