Thursday, June 13, 2013

When The Season is a Fast-Moving Train (Wreck)



Here's my day week  month so far:
Drive, food, drive, drive, break up fight, food, quell sass, drive, doctor, drive, laundry. Food.

We've thrown some fun in, too. Sure we have.

But I know that 2 straight weeks of running around non-stop = me in fetal position.
It hasn't happened yet, but I keep warning Cory, "I'm going to have a melt-down soon. Just FYI. I feel'er rising."


So what's the answer?

I don't know, why are you asking me?
Because all I know is that I do not glorify "busy", like that dumb pin would suggest. I'm not proud of it, people. I'm actually a tiny bit ashamed. Also, tired.


I never understood the parents who over-schedule, me being a homebody introvert and happily having children who mostly follow suit. But then it stopped being winter and all the little activities and obligations snowballed and here we are, it is summer, and I feel'er rising.

The good news? July is chill. Honest to goodness, it will remain chill. It must.
(Except, you know, there's some stuff I'd like to do and so far, I haven't found time....)

I'll keep you posted.


There are clearly a few things holding my sanity intact, and here they are, in no particular order:  
* staying in bed until 7:30 or 8, even though the kids get up at 6:30 (it is ridic)
* keeping water bottles filled and in the fridge (minutes saved, minutes earned, people!)
* not showering until it is dire (this usually happens daily, but at strange times)
* quiet time for an hour or so (if we're home)
* raucous singing in the van
* library books
* staying up until 1am to have QT with Cory (this is admittedly a double-edged sword)
* letting the kids watch some tv every dang day and not worrying a single bit about it
* making them help with chores
* Romans 12
* piloxing (not even playing)

Speaking of piloxing, I just averted certain death for the third time. Here's what I've learned so far: I'm more uncoordinated than I even knew. I cannot be expected to move my legs back and forth while moving my arms in circles. It's not going to happen. Period. Also, I feel like I'm at an unfair disadvantage because my arms are almost as long as Shaq's. My wingspan is greater than my height, and I'm tall, y'all. I don't know why this hinders me, I only know that it must.

That massive, wall-length mirror. It killed me the first night. I looked so weird. Truly, truly weird.
But then I started to embrace what I saw a little. I have a gigantic forehead, okay? I've always been self-conscious about it. It's a legit fivehead. But Tyra Banks has one, too. I'm not the only one.
My limp bangs kept whipping around about my eye region and I just had enough. So I strap the suckers back now, and I'm all arms and forehead and I dig it.

This is who I am, and I'm so chill with it. It only took 36+ years, but I'm convinced that I owe it to piloxing. I never would have believed I could do something like this. I have no muscles. No rhythm. I've never been athletic. But I'm doing it, and I'm a little bit proud of my poor old body. I've been too hard on her all this time. Turns out, she can do stuff! So I'm gonna go ahead and keep her and love her.

Tonight, I'm rewarding my efforts and the fact that I survived and walked out of the class on my two spindly legs with Chinese take-out. It doesn't make perfect sense. I know it. But I'm hungry and we had $30 left in the envelopes and we'll just never be the people who roll extra cash over for next time. It has never happened. We came close this time. Almost there. But if there's one thing I know about us it's that we will always, always burn up extra cash on restaurant food. I don't know. We're good at some things, just not this. Our budget these days is, uh.... yeah. So we've been really good. So good that we had $30 left! Calls for a celebration, if you ask us. We're spoiled and entitled when it comes to take-out.

Also, we're not good at being exactly on time. I add that simply because it feels like the right night to clear my conscience.

 
 
So it looks like this is the good stuff, friends. This is 10 pm hot & sour soup on the couch with your man and the season finale of Homeland. This is looking your own exhaustion square in the mug then ignoring it in favor of a different kind of rest.

This is understanding that seasons come and go. This one is sketchy and messy, but it's filled with things that are important, people whom we love, so we do what we do and we play in the middle. Cleaning and sleep and boredom can wait.

Happy Thursday, Party People!
We're almost there.

But don't get too excited, because the weekend's even busier.