Floating on the mess

I apologized to my husband tonight. I told him I was sorry that the house was still a mess. That I was sorry the folded laundry was still on the chair in the living room, the floor of our bedroom, and that chair on my side of the bed that I promised would never be covered in clothes when I moved it in there. I apologized that I signed us (read him) up for another cookie booth on Sunday. That I've RSVP'd for three birthday parties on the same Saturday that all start and stop within a half hour of each. I told him I was sorry my life was such a mess.

I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of the mess. I look at my dining room table and wonder who put all the papers and crayons and Fruit Loops on it. I wonder why I just keep shoving the shit aside when it would take me no more than five minutes to clean it up. I look at my clean laundry and my dirty laundry and see no obvious difference. I keep thinking that I'm missing important notes from school about parties and projects. I wake in the middle of the night and remember that we are out of turkey for lunches or gluten free bread for Caitlin. I just keep wondering if I will ever have my shit together.

Truth is, I've never really had my shit together. Not totally. But somewhere around Mackenzie's second birthday I felt pretty secure as a mother and a wife. My house has never been "company ready". There are always piles to recycle, give away, or throw away. I've never been one of those women who take comfort in cleaning, I've never been a great cook, and I've never found real joy in exercising. But three years ago, I found this groove, this happy place, where I was completely content with the mess. Where I could embrace the chaos, ignore the bullshit, and be happy with the mundane. I didn't even have to try.

Lately I just feel lost. I've never really regained my footing after going back to work full time. Every morning is a struggle, to wake up, to prep and pack lunches, to get two little ladies dressed and ready for school. It's not that I'm incompetent, it's just that the hours between five and eight o'clock in the morning feel like they move at warp speed. It doesn't matter if I wake up at four thirty every morning, I still can't get us out the door before eight? Why is that? I couldn't tell you, because it feels like we do the exact same thing every morning.

For some reason the mess feels bigger and heavier this week. Maybe because the girls reminded me that the leprechaun didn't come to our house and pee green into our toilet. He didn't leave treats in the leprechaun catcher either, but that's probably because we didn't build one. I told the girls that maybe it's because we need to invite the leprechaun to our house, and that maybe if we send him a hand written invitation, he will show up next year. Maybe. I also misplaced a fundraiser worksheet with sixty six dollars in checks attached to it. My mom showed it to me on Saturday while I was getting ready for work, and that was the last thing I remembered about it until she asked me if I had turned it in. I tore my already in shambles house apart looking for it. It wasn't on the dining room table with the other one zillion school papers and crayons and forgotten books and, oh look, Fruit Loops. It wasn't in the recycle bin, or on the bench under the window with the other books I've read and haven't read, and hey there's my lap top cord. And I felt it. I felt that tug, that pull to the dark side. The dark side where you are the quite possibly the worst, most disorganized mother on the planet. And every day I look at myself in the mirror and say, "Get your shit together".

I gave up on the idea of perfection years ago, when I had a baby who broke every rule in the book. Still it wouldn't be so bad if I had just a little balance in my life. If I could put in place a system of prepping lunches at night, or make the commitment to fnot yell at anyone before eight o'clock in the morning, then maybe, just maybe, I'd find some balance. I feel like if I could just do that, the leprechaun thing wouldn't sting so much. The lost fundraiser form would make my cheeks burn every time I thought about it. From the outside I look like a stand up kind of mom, but from the inside I feel like a walking disaster. Why is it that the little things always feel like the biggest failures. My kids are happy and smart and healthy, so why does a lost form or the lack of green pee in my toilet feel bad enough to make me eat my feelings?

One day I'll find my sea legs again. I'll find that place where the chaos is no longer stifling, where the joy co- exists with the bullshit. I'll know exactly where I put the fundraiser form, and I'll make sure we invite the leprechaun over, I'll even remember to buy gluten free bread before we run out. I had forgotten about the choppy waters of motherhood, the ones that make you feel like you can't sink or swim. For now I'll do my best to tread these waters, to keep my head above them, and on the days I can't, I'll float.

Because if I float, right in the middle of the mess, maybe I won't feel like I'm sinking.

What would the Jolie-Pitts Do?

A few months ago my best friend called me while she cleaned out her closets in preparation for her big move to Montana. She was going through her kid's clothes and was at the point where she wanted to trash it all, but then again, didn't want to trash it all. Before she lost her mind all together she called me to ask some very important questions. Like what I was doing? If she really needed to keep baby onesies sized three months? And the most important: Could her daughter wear her son's Where the Wild Things are t-shirt?

My answer was of course, because faded grey boy t-shirts make little cherubic blonde girls look like riot girls in training. Also why the hell not? But then I reminded her that my parenting role models swear by recycling their children's clothes no matter the gender. I told her that the Jolie-Pitts would definitely let Zahara wear Maddox's old Where the Wild Things Are shirt.

Because the Jolie-Pitts are the coolest parents on the planet.

Sure they are mega super stars, and most of what I see of their parenting is published in the pages of People Magazine or US Weekly. I'm sure that they are just living their lives, doing what they think is best for their kids. But in a world filled with Kardashians and Vanderpumps, I can't help but notice their quiet crusade to parent their own way. Obviously they are always under public scrutiny, and there are still people who hate Jolie because she did steal someone's husband, but I have to make a case for them being very modern and very awesome parenting role models.

A few years ago, I read an article about Ms. Jolie where they asked her about what it's like to be a Hollywood mom. They asked her all the usual questions about balance, about child care, about their educations, and then they asked about her favorite Sunday morning ritutals. Because Sunday mornings tend to carve a life of their own after you settle down and have kids. Jolie mentioned that her favorite thing about being home with her kids versus a movie set was waking up with them. Then she proceeded to tell the interviewer that she and Mr. Pitt had a custom bed built for their family. A bed that is seven feet by seven feet, because at the time the Jolie-Pitts were co-sleepers. This my friends changed my life. Here were two of Hollywood's biggest stars, with more money than the average person could imagine, with the means to hire the best Nanny/Sleep Trainer in the world, but they said nah. They said to hell with all that jazz, and just got a bigger bed, because why fight it? Also at the time they were outnumbered anyway. I decided right then and there, if co-sleeping was good enough for the Jolie-Pitts, well then it was just fine for me.

As their family grew, and the paparrazi made more money for photos of famous people, I got a better look at what their family looked like. I noticed that the kids wore clothes that were very basic. With the exception of a dress here and there for Zahara, I saw that they mostly wore things like jeans and cargo pants, t-shirts and hoodies. Then in a parenting magazine, they did an article on "Celebrity Kids" style and pointed out all the times that Zahara and Shilo had worn hand me downs from Maddox and Pax. I mean why should this family be any different from another? Oh, wait, because they were being photographed in the south of France with their mother looking flawless in a black maxi dress and flip flops. But there they were, walking the streets of France like they were just these jet setters eating Cheetos.

Yes. The twins were in their strollers eating Cheetos. I remember this because I was so surprised that they were able to get Cheetos in France, but since Cheetos are delicious, I guess they are universal. Again, here is a family that you would think would be eating things like baguettes and croisonts and macaroons, but instead Cheetos and Snickers. Ok, I haven't seen proof of the Snickers, but if they eat Cheetos, my money is on Snickers as well. I've also seen those Jolie-Pitt kids drinking soda, eating other varieties of chips, and any kind of junk they can get their hands on... Why? Because they have real parents. Which is easy to forget because they are famous and so incredibly good looking. But seriously, when I think about letting my kids eat Flaming Hot Cheetos in public, I think, What would the Jolie-Pitts do?

So what would the Jolie-Pitts do? They would let their kids have a hand in planning their wedding. They would let Pax bake their wedding cake. Angelina would have a dress designed featuring drawings by her children. The Jolie-Pitts have let their kids sleep in their huge bed with them until they decided they were ready to sleep in their own beds. They have let their kids eat Cheetos in the South of France. What would the Jolie-Pitts do? Whatever they want. Whatever is best for their kids. Whatever is best for their family. Which is not only inspirational, but also pretty effing cool.

My favorite thing the Jolie-Pitts have done as parents? Call their daughter Shilo, John. Now this is tabloid fodder, (and its been going around the internet for the last few months), but it has been said by both Pitt and Jolie that Shilo has said that she would like to be called John. She also likes to dress like her brothers, and act like her brothers. So what? Maybe she is a tomboy. Maybe she is identifying as male as the tabloids like to speculate. Whatever the reason, the Jolie-Pitts have decided to comply with her wishes. This is why I think that the Jolie-Pitts know a thing or two about parenting. They also know a thing or two about not caring what the rest of us think. Which after years of parenting, I feel is the most important lesson to learn.

So if you find yourself wondering if letting your kids Cheetos at Whole Foods is a good idea, or if letting your son wear his big sister's old (and pink) Dora the Explorer t-shirt, ask yourself:

What would the Jolie-Pitts do?

I use Google for my kid's Homework {Millennial Moms}

I just Googled my kids homework. I'm not even kidding. That is what full time work has reduced me to... A pile of mush.

Why are there so many instances in a day that you can be just be a complete failure at things? I mean, I worked all day today, and had a really excellent day at work. Then I came home to the second shift and I feel like I've failed at every turn. Maybe I'm tired, maybe I'm just annoyed, maybe it's because I can't remember the last time I cooked a real meal for my kids. And why does that feel like it's still my responsibility?

Why didn't any of you working moms tell me the truth about second shift? The shift you clock into when you leave your away from home job and start your at home job? You know the one where the school spirit shirt that your daughter is supposed to wear the next day is still in the laundry basket from last week? And of course she can't wear regular clothes because she will be for sure the only kid not in an ugly neon green school spirit shirt? Why didn't you working moms tell me that I needed to buy two? And why didn't you tell me that at some point both would be dirty, and the whole reason for two shirts would go out the window?

Not that any of that has happened... And also side note: why on God's green earth do we need special mid week school spirit shirts? Is it just to make failures out of ordinarily good mothers?

Second shift is for the birds. The first time I heard the term it was on a documentary about the women's movement, and some feminists that were working outside of the home in the seventies were talking about first shift (work) and second shift (at home work). Little did they know back then that second shift for us millennial moms was going to be so damn chaotic. Gone are the days of letting our kids play until the street lights come on. Gone are the days of latch key kids. Gone are the days of store bought, box made cupcakes and cookies, store bought Halloween costumes at the Fall festival, and the simple carving of pumpkins. Those seventies feminists are laughing at us as we struggle to do all the things. In their day, having a job and a child were more than enough. In fact they were a success.

In case you are wondering, I had a working mom, and she did a lot. She did make cakes from scratch, but only three times a year. She trimmed a magnificent Christmas tree each year with what we had. She bought whatever Halloween costume of my desire, and if I wanted something impossible, she found someone to make it. For years she brought home a bunny cake at Easter that had black jelly bean eyes, a furry coat of shredded coconut, and perfect paper ears sticking out the side of its head. Did she slave away in her time off from her full time job to make that beloved bunny cake? Hell no. She ordered out. Still, I loved it all. Every store bought treat, every department store Halloween costume, every single bunny cake made by someone else's mom. It never bothered me a bit. And perhaps she had some second thoughts about her job as a mother, but at the time she was a working mother among many. Everyone brought box mix cupcakes to the bake sale back then. No one questioned a single hand iced cupcake.

How funny, in my motherhood that the tables have turned so drastically. Today it's not enough for me to work, or for me just to stay home. Today I have to work, and "stay home", and make my mantle look like I own a pumpkin patch using scrap book paper and left over jelly jars. It's not enough to bake butterscotch brownies from scratch for the bake sale, sign over your Friday afternoons for the PTC, and make sure that you make it to the fabric store after a nine hour day at the office so you can start that Halloween costume you swore you weren't going to make. It's not enough. These days it seems it's never going to be enough.

But, this year it has to be. This year box mix cakes and Halloween costumes from Costco have to be enough. Because this is the first year that I won't be the room mother. The first year that I won't work at Snack Shack. It's the first year that I almost forgot picture day. The year I forgot to take the jog-a-thon money on the right day for the right prizes. It's the first year that I'm not on top of things one hundred percent. And that has to be ok. The fact that I can get both kids to school and me to work fully dressed, hair done, and make up, is enough. In fact it's the biggest feat of my mothering life. The fact that I can pack lunches and make breakfast and get both kids in the car before seven forty five is enough. More than that it's a win. The fact that I'm writing this post, on Wednesday night, while second shift is in full force, is enough.

Sooner or later us millennial moms are going to have to get smart and say to hell with it. To hell with the fall decorations, and the cake pops that look like ghosts, and the hand made Elsa dresses. At some point we have to say, it's enough. What I've got, what I've done, what I'm doing it's enough. Because it has to be enough. Even if enough means McDonald's for the third night in a row, or grilled cheese again, or even powdered donuts for breakfast. I've got my kids, I've got my husband, I've got my sanity (sort of). And that's plenty. 

I just Googled my kids homework. It's what millennial moms do. In fact it's the mark of success for millennial moms. Trust me. 

Taking time...

Found these at Barnes and Noble. I need these.

I didn't blog at all this week. In fact I haven't written a thing since Saturday night. I had a few chances to squeeze in some writing, but truthfully, my heart just wasn't in it. There are things happening over here, and none of them have to do with this blog. I've been working close to a full time schedule the last two weeks and I'm overwhelmed and exhausted when I'm home and have a to-do list a mile long. Then when I should be overwhelmed and exhausted, I find myself smiling and laughing with my girls on the way to school, or at Walmart late on a Wednesday night. If I've learned anything in my years as a mother, I've learned to embrace the chaos. I think I've been doing exactly that the last two weeks. Things in my life are changing and as much as I loathe change of any kind, I've tried to be positive about it. I've tried to look change in the eyes this time and hope that change and I can come to a meaningful understanding. I'm going to adapt, I'm going to give it the best college try, because change is going to happen anyway. Fine. I'll accept your friend request change. But I don't have to like your status.

This week I looked at my laptop and sighed. I thought about posting every night, and even enjoyed a day off on Tuesday, but still couldn't bring myself to the laptop. Instead I read some books with the girls, and Caitlin read a few to me. Then one night I made pancakes because it seemed like the thing to do. Another night we watched cartoons and sat on the couch. I was avoiding this space, I'll admit. And I had some bloggers guilt, but I found that it dissipates a whole hell of a lot faster than mommy guilt. That should really be a lesson that I need to listen to. Still I felt the pull, still I missed this place, but not as much as I missed my girls and the Hubbs this week.

It's Friday night and finally I'm able to sit down and type out a few thoughts. It feels good. Not that this is the most inspiring post you have ever read here, but it's real. It's me. I'm tired and I want to go to bed, but tonight, I finally have something to say. What I want to say is that everything is perfect and I feel just fine. But in reality Mac is eating cheese puffs, Caitlin is working on a "craft" that involves glue and fabric and she is doing so on the carpet, and I'm sitting here, kind of watching and kind of not. It's fine. When they need me they will holler. Or scream. Or fight. Possibly set the house on fire. Just kidding.

Kind of.

This A-hole in the drive thru

Can I ask you a question? Are we turning into a nation of Assholes? Don't laugh. I'm being very serious. Ok, maybe asshole is harsh, maybe I should ask if we are slowing dumbing ourselves to the point of idiocy. I can't put my finger on it, but I really feel like we are slowly turning ourselves into those "humans" in Wall-E. Where everything will soon be decided for us... Case in point:

This Asshole.

Let me set the scene for you. I woke up incredibly early for a meeting at work. Since I'm part of the Management team, I couldn't just roll up as if I had rolled out of bed. Trust me I seriously considered it. But I woke up at an ungodly hour for a Saturday, went to and participated in a meeting, and then as I was leaving decided to take my family breakfast. Because I knew two things for sure, one: there was no effing way I was going to cook breakfast, and two: McDonald's was still serving breakfast for another half hour. Score. My kids can't get enough of high fructose corn syrup and nitrates. So I booked it to McDonald's which isn't really that far from my house and realized that I wasn't the only person on my side of town boycotting the kitchen. The drive through was backed up, almost to the 7-11 in the same parking lot. That 7-11 will have some significance in a minute, I promise.

So here I am at McDonald's now 23 minutes before they forget how to make pancakes and only know how to make chicken nuggets. I'm starting to panic, because if my kids don't get these pancakes, I'm going to have to go home and use my toaster for frozen waffles and that is just an atrocity that I'm not equipped to handle at this moment in time. At 19 minutes before lock down, I have to make the biggest decision of my adult life... Which drive through line to pick. Because my McDonald's has two, to make sure more Americans are getting their McDoubles and hot apple pies. How do you choose? If I go left the right with go faster and if I go right, well vice versa. Well shit, here goes nothing.

I choose right, and I immediately know I've made the biggest mistake of my Saturday morning. I have a feeling that the car in front of me has no idea what is happening, since it sits there for a three car count. A. Three. Car. Count. Which in real life is like five minutes. I look at the clock and realize it's been eight minutes and I break out into a sweat... Eleven minutes until lock down. Eleven.

I'm not sure what the issue is, so I roll down my window with every intention of "helping". I'm not above "helping". And by helping I mean, getting out of my car and walking up to his window and ordering for him. But I refrain when I hear the following...

"Uh, well, I'll have a large Sprite..."

A large Sprite? A fucking large Sprite? Dude. There is a 7-11 literally twelve fucking feet away. You drove right past it and if you had looked out your passenger side window as you sat in this very long and slow moving line for the past, oh I don't know 13 minutes you could have Big Gulped your ass outta my way.

It gets better.

I can hear him and the order taker discussing the menu items offered at breakfast. Then I realize that the order taker is actually explaining and breaking down breakfast sandwiches for this asshole. Sir, excuse me, Sir? Have you ever been to a McDonald's? I mean are you new? Are you an infant? Are you a vegan who has fallen off the wagon?

Then it hits me. This has to be the stupidest person in the world because there are pictures on the menu. PICTURES. And not just pictures of people enjoying food, but pictures of the ACTUAL FOOD TO ORDER. Even better McDonald's has taken out the hard part of having to memorize the names of the food, because they have provided numbers. NUMBERS and PICTURES, of the food. So you can order with ease. So you can order despite the fact if you have a brain or not.

I wish I was making this up. I wish.

So my question is, are we there? Are we to the point that we have dumbed down even the most simplistic things that we are beyond help? Have we some how reversed and become beings that regardless of pictures and numbers still can't even order an Egg McMuffin with hash browns and a coffee? Even if we have no idea what it's called, but we can see it looks delicious and beautiful, and so we yell out a number and then the cashier yells out another number, and then we use our fingers and toes to count out green paper rectangles and metal circles so we can eat our designated number?

Are we really that stupid?

Don't ask me I proceeded to order the wrong breakfast for the Hubbs using the wrong number and picture on the men, and then they shorted me a hash brown because, well it's fucking McDonald's.

Then I went to Starbucks and waited in line for and paid over two dollars for iced tea.

Who's the idiot now?