Not So Supermom
Do you ever feel like you are failing miserably at just about everything. That nothing you start gets finished, or finished well? It’s like the opposite of the Midas touch, when you’re hoping for gold but end up with goo (or worse). Right now I’m trying hard to come to terms with myself and the disappearance of that sharpness, that quickness, that ability to tackle whatever is thrown at me in a proficient and timely manner. It’s gone. The to do list just gets longer, the floors get messier, the laundry piles gets higher. The time goes by faster, the opportunities to be what you dreamed of being seem so far out of reach you don’t really even remember what those dreams are/were anymore. Shoot, the only dreams you have these days consist of making it through the day without collapsing from exhaustion and hope for your kids not to see just how fragile you are. And that they hold on to the vision of you being a super hero just a little bit longer because their sweet and innocent picture of you is just about the only remaining shred of proof that you actually are somebody important. To them anyway. I have never been good at failing, I have never handled change well, and I have never been good at admitting when I’m wrong or that I need help. Yet I am confronted with these obstacles daily.
Take yesterday, just yesterday, I called the elementary school to find out what forms were still needed to complete registration for the boys. Got the list and sat down at the computer to get it done once and for all. I am embarrassed to admit I had been to the school 3 times prior and each time I forgot something vital for registration. I filled everything out, got it all ready, went in proudly and handed over the 10 remaining pages of forms. Yet there should have been 12. Page 1 of the emergency medical info sheet did not make it off the printer for Luke, nor for Taylor. It’s the sheet with all the phone numbers and addresses for you, the other parent, doctors, preferred hospital, emergency contacts, etc. I quietly asked for 2 page 1’s to fill out (again) and the secretary asked “Are you sure? There’s a lot of information here, don’t you just want to come back?” NO! I did not want to just come back. I was embarrassed enough that after 4 attempts I was not even capable of registering my kids for school. I nearly cried as I sat in the office and scrawled through the paperwork. Then there was the trip to the park where Lizzie cried in terror the entire time we played. The time spent on the phone contesting medical bills insurance should have covered. The forgetting to call to schedule 3 followup doctor appointments (again) for Lizzie until after business hours. The hamburger dinner in which I discovered there were no buns (thankfully the little gas station down the road had a pack of $8 stale delights). The laundry that went through the wash cycle 3 times because of the moldy smell, and who knows how many times the dryer refluffed the same load. Let’s not forget the multiple applications of clear nail polish to the bazillion chigger bites that have found their way to all sorts of fun places on my body. The 3-4 times a night, every night, I have to get up to take care of Lizzie. I am also fairly certain there was some vomit thrown in the mix. And that was just yesterday, or at least all I can remember of yesterday.
I started this post last night and put it down once I struggled to find a way to make it positive (see paragraph 1). I picked it up this morning and spilled out my lovely Friday still feeling sorry for myself (see paragraph 2). It’s evening now and I can’t really think of a way to make the day(s) sound any better. Some days are just going to stink. But that doesn’t mean life stinks. Some days you are going to feel like a fraction of who you once were, and you will be right. But that is not a bad thing. We aren’t the same carefree, youthful girls we once were. In her place is an amazing woman capable of handling anything life throws at her. Only we cannot handle it on our own and that is ok too. We can try, but then we find ourselves feeling sorry for ourselves and writing/whining all about it online (by we I mean me). We have a God who loves us, chigger bites and all, even when we find ourselves feeling like failures or covered in our children’s random bodily fluids. Psalms 55:22 tells us to, “Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be shaken”. We can be the super heroes our kids envision us to be, this verse proves it, just don’t let pride be your kryptonite. Hang in there my dear friends.