#thoughtsandprayers

So today I had to take my youngest to the orthopedic doctor.  She has fractured her patella from dancing too much.  I love that child but she is my little medical money pit! She broke her thumb last fall. And is constantly having issues with her ears and manages to catch every bug that goes around.  Her principal was referring to her as Typhoid Mary during flu season.  And at one point the nurse suggested I keep her home for a few days as she seemed to be catching literally every single thing.

She is devastated that she will not be able to dance this summer.  This is a kid who goes 90 miles an hour at all times.  She dances 6 days a week.  She is a mathlete (super nerd).  She attends the gifted school 1 day a week and her regular school the other 4 days and manages to not only keep up with her regular school but is often ahead of the other kids.  She is mostly helpful at home.  She is 10, so maybe not as helpful as I'd like, but still pretty good. Her social calendar exceeds mine on every level.  So to tell her that she has to be still for the next 6 weeks is really hard for her to swallow.

Her main concerns were swimming and dancing.  She can do neither.   I know this is temporary.  I know forcing her to rest is the best thing for her.  But seeing her face drop just about took out my heart.  I want to fix it for her.  I want her to not hurt.  Basically I want my kid to be her happiest self. 

I realize that is what hover mothers say.  Must keep kids busy.  Must keep kids entertained.  That isn't me.  I am the first one to kick my kids out of the house on a nice day.  If they say they are bored and can't find anything to do, I offer them chores.  They typically find something to do really fast.  I turn off the TV frequently.  We don't play very many video games as I want them reading or getting dirty somewhere out in the neighborhood with their friends.  I have forced my children to become self entertainers.  But when a 10 year old has an immobilization brace, and can barely get around, there aren't a lot of options for finding her own adventure.

I know she will figure out a way to have fun.  But on day one of being still, I just don't know what that will be.  I don't know how to be still.  I am full of nervous energy and anxiety all the time.  I fidget.  I wander around the house.  I go walk around in our yard.  I find reasons to walk to the corner and back.  This will be a learning experience for both of us.  #thoughtsandprayers for our sanity

Welcome to the s#!& show

As you can probably tell by my delayed third post, I like to procrastinate.  It's a terrible habit.  But I need to do this.  I need to share this shit show with the world.  I feel like there are plenty of people out there who are having a similar insane life.  It can't just be me.  Wake up, mad dash to get kids ready, mad dash to get kids to school, rush home get ready for work, rush to work, deal with the idiots of the world all day, rush home to get kids to activities, rush home to make dinner, yell at kids to do homework and fight about why they have to shower (nobody wants to have the stinky kid in class)....  Finally somewhere around 9:30 you get to sit for a minute.  Next to laundry mountain, staring at your messy coffee table.  Wishing you could just have one day off from everything, and then one more day after that to clean the house.  You realize you have barely spoken to your husband so you try to hide you baby fat (I don't care if my kid is now 10, I am still calling it baby fat) under the wide waste band of your super attractive leggings, and you attempt to straighten the comfy tee you put on when you got home, but notice there is a hole in it. (ok multiple holes, shut up) Arms squeezed down by your side he won't notice you have b.o.  Every. Damn. Day.

I am always so grateful that my husband loves me just as I am.   But I often wonder if her really does.  He could not possibly be content with this current life.  Chubby wife.  Messy house.  When we started dating I was just 22.  5'9"  125 lbs.  A fairly quiet human.  I liked to have fun, but nothing too crazy.  Fast forward two kids, 80 lbs, and 16 years and this is not what he signed up for.  Let alone all my antics between when we met and now.  (that is for a different post)  I often just look at him in awe and wonder how he still loves me.  If he still loves me.  Wait.... does he love me?  Oh my God.....  Is he just sitting next me in my fat lady leggings, thinking I am fat and not loving me anymore.... Oh no he wants to leave me.  How is this happening.....  and that ladies and gentleman is how anxiety works.  I am blessed with the most amazing husband and some pretty cool kids, but boy can I spiral fast.  Don't get me started on how the clutter can ruin my day, but thought of dealing with the clutter can also ruin my day.  Yep.  For sure not what he signed up for.

Every day I wake up and I think, today is the day I am going to be awesome.  Today is the day I come home after work and be one of those moms who has it all together.  I will get all the bills paid on time, I will get all the laundry done, my kids will eat a nice dinner and get everywhere on time.  My husband will not see me in my fat lady leggings.  I will wear make-up and look nice.....  This is all around 6:45 as I am waking up.  By 7 I realize I have told myself about 50 lies before I even get out of bed.  By 7:15 I am screaming at the kids to hurry up.  But 7:45 I am rushing to get to their school on time so I can rush back home to get ready for work so that I can rush to my office that is right back by the kids school and not be late (which I will be).... Deal with the idiots at my job all day, come home see laundry mountain.  Screw it. Where are my leggings, and hopefully I have wine and hopefully my husband has time to take the kids to their crap tonight. Make o.k. dinner.  At least one family member hates it.  Finally sit down on couch, notice husband, start cycle all over.

I watch my friends who look they have all their shit together.  And I wonder how they do it.  No one thinks I have my shit together.  I am obviously a hot mess.  There is no hiding.  Where are the other hot mess moms?  How do I find them?  Are they at home in their fat lady leggings, sipping (chugging) wine and just trying to get through one more day?  Maybe.  And maybe one of them will see this and realize they aren't the only one.  I would say 'hot mess moms unite'!  But no one wants to see the many chubby moms in leggings all in one place.  Let's be honest.

Hot Mess Express

I am a disaster.  At all times.  A nervous ball of anxious energy.  I constantly vacillate between needing a nap and needing to run a marathon to exhaust all of my energy. (not that I would ever actually run a marathon because effort is not really my thing)  I have been a socially awkward hot mess for since I was a kid.  Very square peg, round hole thing happening my whole life. Didn't fit in with the popular kids, and was even too weird for some of the weird kids.    It has been a struggle.  A struggle to find friends, my place, and even the right job. 

It wasn't until I was nearly 18 that I finally made a few friends that seemed to appreciate my brand of weirdness. Sure I had a few friends along the way, but they were usually as awkward as me and just as terrible at keeping up a friendship as I was.  But when I was 18 I started finding people who didn't seem to mind that I was an odd duck.  Some of them even seemed to prefer me on my weirdest days.  This was my tribe.  These were my people.  It wasn't always perfect, but it was the best I had known so far.  

I am now the ripe old age of 38 and some of those people I met 20 years ago are still my people, but I have moved and made new friends along the way. I have also left behind many people in that 20 years. As I have gotten older I have realized how many people truly are just awful. But that was more just growing up than being weird and awkward. 

A funny thing happened in my early to mid 20's.  I decided I wanted to be more social, to have more friends, to see what life was like outside of just sitting on couches with friends.  I made a choice that I would act confident.  Just fake it until I made it.  Some of the people who had watched me struggle socially really cheered me on.  Some of the people who I thought were my best friends hated the new confident me.  I learned so many things about human nature and friendship in ways that were often uncomfortable and painful.  But they are lessons I carry with me at all times now.

I met my husband when I was just 22. He played a big role in the new confident me. He was so friendly and social and knew everyone.  I just wanted so much to be a part of that world. He has stuck by me through my highest points and my lowest valleys.  Even my most bat-shit crazy days.  (that is the technical term.) No matter how many times I think I have hit my rock bottom of making social faux pas and awkwardness, he is there to pick me up.  He has watched me lose friends and make new friends and I am forever grateful when I am reminded that he is actually not just my husband but also my best friend.  He isn't always present for my misadventures, but he is always there to laugh with me about them, even occasionally at me instead of with me when needed.  He never lets me take myself too seriously, but also forces me to when required.    

Between the love of my husband and good friends, and enemies and frenemies I have met along the way, I have managed to always remain my awkward, weird, foul mouthed, non filtered, very loud self.  I have just learned to have confidence about it. And to accept my limits. No shame in my socially awkward game.

Me

I am a 38 year old living with anxiety.  I have a kick ass husband and two pretty awesome kids.  I am a hot mess at all times and my family lovingly tolerates my misadventures.  To say that I make the wrong choice often would be a gross under-exaggeration.  Between my klutziness, my non filtered mouth, and my social awkwardness, I struggle to navigate daily life with out at least one incident a day.  I work in a field (property management) where I am often required to hold my tongue and I fail so frequently it is almost comedic.   I just need a place to share it all!  So if you come across this and decide to read it, enjoy the idiocy that is my life.