I think it will come as a surprise to very few people when I admit that I am often overwhelmed. This past school year was particularly challenging. Into the regular mix of single parenthood, teaching, and graduate school, I added a number of new and exotic stressors. My son was involved in either academic or psychological testing the *entire* school year. My daughter sustained a concussion that had her missing school time from February through May, and I developed some sort of mystery illness that sapped me of my strength. There was good news- I got engaged! There was bad news - ice dams created puddles in my kitchen. By the time June 26th rolled around and the school year came to a blessed end, I weighed thirty pounds more, felt five years older, and was more ready for a summer vacation than I've ever been.I started this vacation the way I begin all summer vacations: with big plans and optimism. The first days of summer are filled with the luxury of 8 hours of sleep, unrushed cups of coffee sipped from a comfortable couch, and the comfort of the promise of 8 weeks of calm and serenity. Given all the time not spent at school, I always feel as though I'll have hours and hours with which to clean my house from top to bottom, plant an herb garden, cook healthy meals, teach my son to ride a bike without training wheels, go on long walks with my daughter, learn to make homemade pizzelles, volunteer for charitable causes, and start writing that novel I outlined 10 years ago.
So how do I end up here - a fridge full of hot dogs and a freezer full of chicken nuggets and ice cream, dehydrated plants wilting, my son's bike parked in exactly the same spot it was on his birthday a full month ago. How can I fall from beautiful expectation to dismal reality in just two short weeks?So I decide it's time to get my shit together and I start writing to do lists. They used to be handwritten on those long notepads you can get in the dollar section of Target. But now I keep them on my phone, each major to do item can be clicked upon to reveal the multiple smaller tasks the must be done to accomplish the main goal. I love this app. It's purple and pretty. It makes lines through the things I've accomplished and saves them so I have the satisfaction of scrolling down to see just how much I've done. It provides inspirational quotes. It's lovely.
Of course, just making the do list isn't an accomplishment. Unless you put "make to do list" on your to-do list. Don't think I'm not above that.
My lists are often ambitious. I'm not just going to clean my room. I'm going to completely reorganize it so I can have a functional home office space and finally get my laptop off the dining room table, I'm not just going to pick up the basement. I'm going to get rid of the old furniture, replace it with smaller, more child friendly pieces, and carve out a crafting area for myself.
I know. Cute, right?
Let's be honest. I don't need to "make a work space" in my room; I need to clear the shit off the desk so I can put my laptop on it. I don't need to "sort kid clothes." I need to clean their rooms and throw things away. I need to clean the bathrooms. I need to vacuum the stairs. I need to clean the kitchen, dining room, living room, and basement. I need to repack my basement storage that somehow belched its contents all over itself sometime between Christmas and now.
In short, my house is a mess.
Glass-half-full Mary thinks, "No problem! I can get all of this done in a week!" But as the days tick by and only one major to-to gets checked off, the glass is looking suspiciously less full. Then I have to get the kids to summer classes, get myself to summer school, prepare for presentations to be given at various conferences, and try to jam in all the doctor's and dentist's appointments I've been pushing off for the past three months. Realist Mary chimes in, "Let's shoot for donating the clothes and redoing the basement, okay?" My 8 weeks of calm are quickly lost in summer days spent driving to concussion specialists in Boston and talking to summer school teachers about Vinnie's outbursts of temper and trying to wrap my head around how *exactly* I'm supposed to redesign the school library with no staff and no budget. I know serenity has flown the coop when I end up spending $50 on organic, all natural, grain-free cat food because the pet store in town doesn't stock the $25 organic, grain-free food the cats eat, and I can't tolerate another twenty minutes in the car with Vinnie to drive to a store that does. And that's when it happens. Glass-Half-Empty Mary takes over. She doesn't say anything. She just hands me a glass of wine and sits my ass on the sofa with a book. If she did speak, it would sound something akin to "Fuck it."
So there I sit, Kindle in hand, glass of wine nearby, when Anna comes down to ask for a light bulb. I look up at her. "Already?"
See, sometime in the fall, Anna's overhead ceiling fan light burned out. The CFL bulbs I had were too big to fit, so I just gave her a lamp for next to her bed. I added light bulbs to the shopping list and headed off to Target. There I purchased light bulbs that were marketed as ceiling fan bulbs. When I tried to install them into Anna's room, I discovered they were too small. I went back to the store, returned them for regular bulbs - not CFL because they don't fit under the glass dome of the light fixture. I installed one, but the filament broke because of all the vibration from the ceiling fan. So I hit Amazon. I bught a pack of ceiling fan bulbs that looked larger than the ones I bought at Target. When they arrived I discovered that they too were the wrong size. At that point I gave up. Anna would just have to make do with a lamp.
So when she comes downstairs to ask for a light bulb a full nine months later, I feel nine months of making-do come crashing down on me. I look at the piles of shoes by the door, still stacked atop the winter boot tray I haven't bothered to put away. I look at the waffle iron sitting on the floor next to the pantry door instead of inside the pantry. I look at the dirty sock peeking out from under the couch, the hay leaking out from the sides of the guinea pig cage, the dust bunnies collecting in the corners of the stairs, and I am done.
What kind of mother am I? This is ridiculous! Why can't I stick with a child chore schedule? Why can't I do one thing until it's done before starting the next task? Why can't I get my shit together? A mother with her shit together has light bulbs in the house so her daughter can see in her bedroom, for the love of god!
So I go to the store, buy some provisions, 2 packages regular light bulbs, 2 CFL light bulbs, and 4 packages of vibration resistant, appropriately sized ceiling fan bulbs. I install the bulb and ensure that it fits and works. And I go downstairs to get the rest of my life in order.
The dirty sock is still under the couch. I'll get to it when I finish this chapter.
