Wednesday, January 13, 2010

On Life & Laughing

Some days it just kind of hits you, and you have to laugh...
because if you did anything else you would risk total breakdown and potentially face a year at the looney bin.

There was screaming because Jordan was using Ian's new tooth-brushing timer he just got from the dentist. Ian didn't want him to use it.
As I run down the stairs to shush the youngest so he doesn't wake his sleeping father who has to get up at 4:30am the next few days, "Well, were you using it?"
"No, but I didn't want him to use it."
"Then maybe you shouldn't ever be able to use anyone else's things ever, since you're selfish with your things. Go wash your face and get your clothes on now. Don't forget to change your underwear."
Back upstairs.
"Jord, if something you're doing is causing someone else that much grief, is it really necessary to continue doing it?"
"No."
"Then why did you continue?"
"Because I wanted to use it."
Ugh.

Ian can't find his sweatshirt. But, for some reason, when I turn on the light and look in the exact same place he swears it isn't... it is.
Brit still isn't ready and they should have walked out the door five minutes ago.
"Brit, this is why I asked you to please decide what you want for breakfast so you weren't siting at the kitchen table forever wasting time that you now need."
"But, I didn't know I would have to go to the bathroom."
"Yes, but that's why we get things ready and going when we can, so we have time later, because you're probably always going to have to use the bathroom."
I see a few tears.
I know she's frustrated. So am I.
She decided to wear a skirt today.
"Your legs are going to be cold. Where are your black leggings?"
"I couldn't find them."
I rush into her room, even though they now should have been gone eight minutes ago.
You're darn right you couldn't find them, I think. Clothes are everywhere.
She'll just have to learn this lesson.
Back at the front door I say something about laying her clothes out the night before, but am mentally reminded she is my daughter.

We pray. They're gone. Rushing to school. I see Brit sidestepping the snow that still covers our front yard in her skirt and little sneaker slides. I cringe at the thought of her cold legs on the playground. Oh, well.

I close the door. Silence. Lovely silence.
I reheat last night's coffee, which would have been yesterday morning's coffee but we had company (Hi, Kelly!), so I actually made a fresh pot. I'm thinking I can sit down and have my quiet time before I head to the school in a bit.
But the counter is a mess, and the pan from last night's ham reeks.
I fill the dishwasher and get it started.
Run water in the pan.
Pile the rest of the wash-by-hand dishes in the sink.
The counter is disgusting, so I wipe it down.
The trash is overflowing.
The recycle is everywhere.
Sometimes you just can't function until a few things are in place.

(I think I haven't been functioning since right after Christmas.)

Okay, the dishwasher is running.
There's some semblance of quasi-order.
The rest can wait 'til later.
I fix my reheated coffee (In the same cup I used last night. Let's get as few dishes dirty as possible.) and realize I'm hungry.
The only bowl is Blue's Clues, so I accept the mocking of motherhood and pour the Cheerios in anyway. I turn to sit and have my quiet time.
But the table needs a quick wipe-down so my notebook doesn't stick to it...
which turns into a bicep workout because someone spilled syrup on the table and let it harden...
probably a few days ago.
I wipe the crumbs and little mystery lint-y things onto the floor because it needs to be swept anyway, which I won't get to until this afternoon.

Now I finally sit down...
deep breath...

the phone rings.

It's the mortgage guy about our possible re-fi on the Denver house.
"I only need a few minutes of your time."
"Alright," I say.

A few minutes later, off the phone.
I scarf my now-soggy Cheerios.
The clock tells me I need to leave in fifteen minutes.
Seeing as how pajama pants and unbrushed teeth are probably not the best representation of the school's reading assistance program, my quiet time will have to wait.

And another morning has passed.

Such are the seasons of life we pass through.
At least I pass through.
And I do what I can.
And I use what I have.
And I get to things when I get to things.
And I don't cling too tightly to schedules,
because, as much as you try, you can't really schedule life.
Life usually ends up scheduling you.
And that's fine, if you don't hold it too tightly in the first place.

And I try to remember to laugh...

...because it's better than the looney bin.





*Thanks to Joyful Life Photography for the fun pic. Amber, you're amazing and I miss you daily.*
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