My Life vs. Writing about My Life

I want to write. I do. I want to curl up with a hot cup of coffee and my computer. I want to sit and write and share my soul with you. I want to think and read and reflect and consider and ponder and imagine and … write. That’s what I want to do. But, I’m sure that my absence from the world of blogging would reveal that what I want isn’t always what happens. It’s, quite honestly, rarely what happens. That type of quiet time is simply a luxury that I currently don’t possess. And, it’s fine. I’ve accepted it. I like the happy chaos that surrounds me. But, quiet time to write is just a bit elusive. Which means less time for Elle Bee Lovely. Less time for you, my dears. Less time for me.

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I’ve been a Stay-At-Home-Mom for two years now. TWO YEARS! I can not believe it. Where did two years go?! It’s not possible. It’s just not. I remember my last day of work, walking to my car at the end of the day, walking away from my lovely team at The Green Kangaroo, as if it were just a few months ago. I was excited then, and maybe a tad apprehensive, for a new adventure with my babies. And, what an adventure it has been!! N was going on 3 then and A was still baking in my belly. Now, N will turn 5 (FIVE?!) late this summer and A will be 2. Time flies! I mean, it really flies, doesn’t it?! Sure, the days can be, at times, long. Some days, really long. But, even still, it goes quick. Staying at home is, well, not quite what I expected and exactly what I expected, if that makes sense. It is easily the hardest I’ve ever worked. Easily. And, maybe that’s because it’s so many roles in one and you never, ever go off the clock. And, I’m so invested in it. I love it. I’m rewarded by it. I care so much about it. I desperately want to get it right. The “SAHM” title makes me chuckle though. It’s not-so-accurate. It doesn’t bother me and I don’t spend much time thinking about that sort of thing. But, still … we don’t really “stay at home.” We go everywhere. We do all the things. My mom (who was also a SAHM) still talks about a male family friend who used to laugh when she’d say that she stayed home with her children and say, “Your house must be so clean! Do you just sit around and watch soap operas?” Clearly he had no clue. No. Clue. We go out and about nearly every day … parks, playgrounds, pools, libraries, play dates, Chick-fil-a, shopping, errands. We go out. And, some days, we don’t. Some days, we stay in. We (I) clean, we relax, we make messes, we do art projects, we color, we play, we build legos, we go for walks, we play outside, we make cookies, we read, we laugh, we dance, we watch movies, we kiss, we hug. Whether we are out or we’re at home, we are always doing something. It sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? I’m snorting a little as I write this, because it sounds so fun, so easy, so carefree. And, it is lovely. It is special. It is a blessing. But, it is not easy breezy. Because, in listing all the “fun” things that we get to do, I’ve left out all the other things — the tears that happen as we drive around town — the hundreds of cups of juice/milk/water that must be filled and not forgotten — the snacks and messes and spills that happen in the car — the kid who needs to pee just as we pull onto the highway — the other kid that howls like she’s being tortured most of the time that she’s in her carseat — the diapers that must be changed at the most inconvenient times — the lost pacifiers — how much you sweat as you are attempting to get everyone seated for what “appears” to be a simple lunch out — the boo-boos that must be kissed — the toys that are All Over The House at all times — the cleaning up and putting away that never ends — the laundry — the way everything seems to fall completely apart right as you are trying to fix lunch and dinner (don’t even get me started on dinner) — the silly battles that happen — and on and on and on. That list above, that sweet list of all the things we do … it needs to also include these: we cry, we yell, we argue, we sit in time-out, we make-up, we negotiate, we talk it out, we color on walls, we stomp our feet, we throw tantrums, some of us throw food, we use some mean words, we pray, we are sticky, we make other things sticky, we say “I’m sorry”, we pray some more, we love. We love. Through all things – we love. And, we sweat. Did I mention that? I had no idea. I was never much of a Sweaty Betty, but motherhood is sweaty. I’m not kidding. It’s one of those things that no one tells you. That kids make you sweat. You should know that. They should put that on the warning label that comes with the children. Ohhh wait, that’s right! 🙂 A few weeks ago N, A and I met a group from N’s awesome pre-school (Grow Pre-school, if you are curious) for a rainy morning at an indoor mall playground and a food-court lunch. As we struggled with our strollers and trays of food; as we struggled to get all of our children seated, to get their plastic placemats stuck down (only for them to be ripped right back up); as we struggled to get everyone’s meat cut and drinks handed out and to avoid ketchup spills; as we just struggled in general – I looked across the table at one of the other mommas and she, literally, had beads of sweat covering her forehead and another momma was fanning herself as sweat ran down her face, and it wasn’t even that hot. We were just … working hard. And, then, we finally get to eat … for 35 seconds and then someone has to pee again and then someone else is crying to get out of her highchair. So, yeah … it is the life of leisure …

Did I mention that I’ve been a SAHM for two years now?! Ha ha! Don’t get me wrong. I celebrate it. I do. It may be challenging. It may be hard. But, it’s beautiful. It’s my beautiful, messy adventure and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not anything.

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In trying to balance it, trying to figure it all out, I’ve let the writing (among a list of other things) slide. You’ll hear from me still. Just, less, for now. A is growing and napping less and demanding more. N is out of school for the summer. Any quiet time that I may have had, seems to have floated away and it’s remaining just beyond my grasp. And, yet, it’s okay. I’m allowing myself to be okay with it. Give yourself the gift of letting yourself off the hook. One can not do it all or have it all, despite what society may say. One still must prioritize. And, it’s just a season, remember. In the long run, this time will be a little sliver out of my life. Probably the best, most cherished, little silver. I’ll have plenty of “me time” in the years to come. This is my “momma with littles” season. I’m choosing to embrace it. Let’s embrace it. Let’s own it. Let’s roll with it. Let’s make it the best damn season under the sun!!!

Xoxo

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A Little Bit Jealous

There are days when I’m jealous of my husband. There. I said it. I watch him, as he kisses us, wishes us a good day, and leaves. I watch him and feelings that I don’t understand swirl around inside of me. Some days I want to cling to him and beg him to stay, “Just don’t leave me alone with them!” Other days I want to throw something at the door after he’s closed it. It’s not HIM (he’s quite a lovely husband actually). It’s not his fault. It’s not even about him at all. It’s me. Now, I know. I KNOW. I don’t really want to trade places with him. I’m lucky, blessed, etc. I know. And, most days, when he leaves, nothing happens. I’m fine. We’re fine (do I sound like I’m trying to convince you … or myself?). I’m happy to be home with my babies. I genuinely wouldn’t trade it or change it or have it any other way. I’m honored to be their mother and I’m thrilled that I get to be the one raising them. But. Oh, BUT there are days. Days when I’d give anything to kiss them all and leave. To drive somewhere (anywhere) in peace. In quiet! To pick up a coffee. ALONE. With no one crying or asking for juice as I try to order. Alone. Sigh. In my mind I drive to a quiet (am I saying quiet too often? I’m sensing a trend), lovely, little office where everything is white and pretty and where nothing is sticky and where everything is organized to a point border-lying on neurotic. Where I don’t trip over things on my way to the bathroom. Oh! Yes! Where I get to go to the bathroom alone too. Where music plays softly and I focus. I zone in (or out) on something and I simply don’t think.

Now, I don’t have to see a shrink to understand what’s going on here. I know perfectly well why I’m daydreaming about far-away, highly atypical office environments. Who daydreams about going to work anyways, right?! It’s so simple. It’s so obvious. Yet, the solution continues to elude me. I just need a little space. A little left for me. Something. Anything. Work – that’s not really what it’s about at all. Most days I want to be just where I am. Where chaos collides with love. Where I’m pushed to the brink of screaming … but pulled back in with kisses and giggles. Where mess mingles with imagination. Where piles of stuffed animals and blankets = nests of snuggle-buggleing (yes, that is a word). How could I possibly want to miss any of this? Oh, but I do long for a little bit leftover just for me. Then maybe, just maybe, I’d be a little better at it all. And, maybe also a little less jealous of my husband. 🙂