Saturday, May 19, 2018

Thoughts on Motherhoold of Two Small Ones

I feel like I have finally grown up. I'm a responsible adult with two kids. I know how to cook three meals a day, meal plan, do laundry, soothe a tantrum, make beds, wipe mouths, organize a fridge and feel creatively stifled all at the same time. I know how to have good intentions and never follow through with them.

Sometimes I feel like I am a machine. My machine runs off of hastily consumed food and cold coffee. My levers read "bathe toddler" and "change sheets" and the noise that consumes my cogs is a mix of a baby fussing and pots clanging. This sound is played over and over again and my hinges are wearing out. I am derelict.

Yesterday I went to the store for groceries without brushing my hair. I got home and looked in the mirror and did a double take. I wanted to laugh at myself, but it was just sad. Why didn't anyone tell me that I looked legitimately homeless?! How could I forget a simple thing like brushing my hair? What must the cashier have thought?

There are so many thoughts buzzing in my head. Don't forget to switch the laundry. The dishes need to be done. Reuben needs to be changed into fresh clothes. I need a bath. I need to prep some food. The weeding is way past due. Managing a household is a full time job. It's also a lot of repetition and routine. A juggling act.

I couldn't do it without God. I need him every hour, every day, every moment. Every sunrise that creaks over the horizon brings fresh prayers to my mind begging him to give me the strength, the stamina to make it through. "Making It" has become the score that I tally my life by. How much TV did we watch today? Was take out part of a meal? Did I read him any books today? I feel like a failure of a mother when the TV is on and he eats Hardee's for supper while I tell him I am too tired to read books. But I feel like a worn out, tired and stressed mom when he eats homecooked peas and chicken for supper while I wash the dishes. Many days the books we read are piled all around the living room in discordant heaps, but I still feel unhappy.

I am struggling to find balance. And peace, inwardly and outwardly.

And where is my hairbrush?