Oh my gosh, I needed this.
I’m hiding in my room, while all the kids are outside engaging in forced gardening-type activities with their father. The window is open, I’ve got a fresh cup of coffee and half a dark chocolate/chili bar beside me. It’s such a marked difference from the last few weeks, I could just about weep in gratitude.
A mere 24 hours ago, I was a woman on the verge. I woke with an eye-twitch and my hands didn’t stop shaking until 8:00 at night. We’re busy. Really, REALLY busy. And I suppose that I am not helping by demanding say, concrete plans from certain unresponsive individuals. Specifically my husband. The Whatever Man.
Me (with urgency): “Honey, what are we going to do? We have three conflicting baseball/softball games. Who’s going to take the car and run who where?”
Hubby (cheerfully): “Whatever.”
Me (pitch rising to level bordering on hysterical): “SERIOUSLY. I’m not sure I can get home in time. They all have to eat beforehand, too. Are you going to get home in time? Can I just drop the twins off and leave? Will you make it to the end of the game? And what about the concert/ spring fling/ softball conflict on Wed.?”
Hubby (still maddeningly nonplussed): “Whatever. Maybe they’ll just be late.”
Me: “Late? LATE?!!! You can’t be late for a concert!!! You also can’t expect them to play softball until 8:30 with no supper!”
Hubby: “I’m sure it will work out.”
And you know what? It always does –because I make it work, for Pete’s sake! But still, it is not good for anyone involved for me to be this crazy person, running around, shaking a day planner over my head and screaming “You can finish eating in the car!!! Grab your batting helmets and let’s GO!!!!!”
I’ve got friends with problems. Real problems. Problems that they are handling with far more grace than me and my little spring sports scheduling debacle. What am I even complaining about? That my five children are all healthy enough to run and jump and play? That they are social enough to want to make new friends and wear their cute uniforms and be adorable for a few hours a day? That my husband occasionally tries to keep my head from imploding by making a little joke about my stress levels and hormones? (Okay. Actually that one still pisses me off. Sure I had just threatened to wait until he fell asleep and then punch him in the throat, but still…. Hey, buddy! For your information, “My wife has PMS” and “I am being an uncooperative knucklehead” are not mutually exclusive statements.)
Funny how none of that seems to matter today. In a rare display of clarity and common sense, we blew off everything today and are home. Home sweet home. My heart rate has slowed to near normal and I feel almost ready to tackle next week. There’s a breeze and the sound of chirping birds wafting in the window. I’ve got that cup of coffee and a half a dark chocolat…
Well, I’ve got the coffee anyway.
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