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Betcha never had *this* thought before


I achieved something revolutionary today.


The morning started totally normally:

*I lay in bed, evaluating our day, which included school, work, before-and-after-school activities plus possibly a load of laundry and hopefully decluttering a surface — any surface — so help me G-d.

*I sat up in bed and spent seven minutes trying to muster energy for my day by watching an Instagram video on repeat of a Parakeet power-bopping on the dashboard of an Uber to the 50’s rock song “La Bamba.”

*I hugged my daughter, then slipped my son a two-pack of Reese’s as a follow-up apology for yesterday afternoon, when I’d taken him for a haircut; then decided the haircut made him look like Jim Carey from Dumb and Dumber; then re-cut his hair myself, in a fit, only to cross-reference the movie poster and discover that the haircut I'd given him had ACTUALLY made him look like Jim Carey from Dumb and Dumber.

*I fried an egg, while plotting when and where to bring him for a new haircut at a new barber who wouldn’t demand the backstory.

*I sent a private text to an entire group.

*I watched the kids dumpster-dive for socks.

*I spot-cleaned, for the third time, my favorite duvet cover which I’d stained with my favorite pen that I’d fallen asleep holding, thereby draining my favorite pen.

*I removed a plastic produce carton containing a single grape tomato from the shoe closet.

*I sprinted upstairs, half-dressed, after my daughter screamed, “Mom! Mom!” — to find my children standing there, ready to put on a show. “This is how brother gargles,” Sister said. Brother gargled, politely. “And this is how I gargle,” she said, sputtering salt water everywhere, like a half-raised boat engine. “We gargle different!!”

*I took a chastisement from my husband for leaving dirty pots in the sink for two days after I cooked my bi-monthly (monthly) gourmet meal which I was ultimately too blah to eat. (Note to Husband: the more you tell me to clean the pots, the less I will clean the pots.)

*I explained to my husband that “lackadaisical” is not the same thing as “exhausted.”

*I shrieked at the dead rabbit on the front porch that had been deposited there as a tribute by my cat — yet another male who can’t understand that the appropriate way of showing me love is cuddles.

*I thought back to last weekend, when I’d helped lead and run the inaugural year of a sub-regional, multi-day festival and felt powerful, for once – which had made working 12 days straight feel bearable. Which had, in fact, made life feel bearable.

*I dropped the children off late to school for the millionth time. (Come and get ‘em CPS: my kid gargles like a Venetian fountain.)

So what was revolutionary about this day?

Well, the night before, when I’d expressed awe to a new friend over the fact that she runs marathons and has achieved greatness in her field, she said to me: “My kids are older!” And you know what? That’s not everything; but it’s something.

And so, this morning, when I noticed the thought: “What a fucking disaster —” I added a new thought: “ — and I’m doing a really great job.”

Bet you are too.

Mom

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