There is no way around it. I cannot do it all. I cannot work full time, buy the groceries, cook the groceries, get some sleep, deal with sick children and calls from schools and pharmacists while driving to weekend preschool programs without messy forms of neglect seeping through the cracks of my mental/physical health. I am not talking big cracks here - not like when superman had to fly around the earth backwards to put the shards of earth plates back together. I don't need a miracle or a superhero, but I do need to get someone to clean the house every once in a while. I should probably accept the fact that I will only make myself lunch one out of the five work days and the idea that I might get to work on time in time to legitimately take my proper breaks is a laughable idealistic pipe dream.
....and that's just the dust bunnies -
what about my inner world? what about writing more than once a month. What about all those fiction ideas that gurgled and churned, even a few weeks ago. I am the creative proletariat. There will be no creative revolution, because I am just too pulled apart and run ragged.
Maybe I'll be able to stand in the middle of the seasaw at some point in the near future and there will be a few minutes of balance before slipping to one side and landing in a heap, legs all akimbo.
...By the way, "akimbo" might just be my favourite word. I love it as much as I loathe the word "incentivize" ick. Words, words, words. "Mama, can you say 'fuckit'?" asked kid J while holding my hand and walking to grandma's house tonight. Hmnnnn. Discussion of swear words ensued. She seemed to understand - swear words can make some people really upset. They are really words for adults. I use them more than I should. blah blah. Kid J underscored her nuanced understanding of our use of these swears when she explained the times we are most likely to swear:
"mama, when you're mad."
"daddy, when you watch hockey"
"teenager, when you kid around with your friends"
"grandma, when you're cleaning"
"me and neighbour boy when we play cars and airplanes. yep, these are the times we all use bad words."
I do think she is ever so clever and I am sure toddler e will be swearing a frustrated streak any day now in her not quite two year old quest for all things to do herself. I love that she is trying to put her pants on every morning, but I hate that she is showing marked preferences for some outfits rather than others based on god only knows. I swear if she could swear she would be saying, "open this fucking door, I want some more parmesan cheese please." or at least I imagine there would be a please at the end.
speaking of ends, I have come to the cathartic rambling end. My bed awaits - that temporary crumb filled haven I retreat to for the ten minutes or so before someone yells "mama mama". Oh fuck!