The Second Day

I was pretty impressed with myself this morning for getting out of the house only 25 minutes later than planned. At least until I got a block from B's school and realized that I'd forgotten his nap stuff. I remembered his backpack, his lunch, my purse, my lunch, my pump, Emma's diaper bag, and both of my children. But I forgot the blankets. I feel like I should still be impressed with myself, though. Because getting out of the house at 7:25am with all of that crap is nothing short of a miracle. AND we all had clothes on. AND I managed to feed both of my children (but not myself--who has time to eat?). Let's not talk about what the house looked like as I left. Let's pretend that you could see the floor, and that it was not, in fact, covered in pajamas, shoes, clean laundry, dirty laundry, burp cloths, blankets, cars, used and unused kleenex, a card game, empty water bottles, TV remotes, a rattle, and probably a dozen other things. And while we're talking about how pretty my house is, we've got to throw in the fact that our bed is covered with random throw blankets because Ben fell asleep in it and peed on the beadspread which is, of course, dry-clean only. And if all of that isn't enough, my books are not in alphabetical order--they're just shoved willy nilly onto shelves. I might die.

Because my house isn't enough of a mess, my classroom looks like it was was invaded by Vikings. I have no idea where anything is, and there are piles of papers everywhere. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to grade them, file them, or eat them. And there's a random half-full bag of smarties on my desk. But I know exactly what to do with those. Besides the mess, I have no idea what I'm teaching tomorrow let alone next month. And don't even get me started on the state of my color coding system. How is a person supposed to live like this!?!?

If being a working mom of a small child was not enough to knock the anal organizer out of me, then being a working mom of two small children most certainly is. And being heinously sick on top of it is an almost laughable addition.

I almost forgot to bring milk to Emma's nanny. I forgot to switch the laundry before I left, so it sat in the washer all day. I spend my recesses and lunches pumping, and I keep forgetting to eat. I almost forgot to pick Ben up from preschool. I just kept thinking about when I should leave to pick up Emma, and eventually it dawned on me that I have to get the other one, too. Good grief. I swear I used to be intelligent.

I got around to picking up both children. But it's a good thing I don't have any more, because I don't think there's room for anyone else in the car, what with the seven bags and all (not to mention the crafts, papers, and Ben's extra sweatshirt that I forgot to bring home last week). How do I end up always going home with more than I left with?

So basically I'm barely hanging on. And that's just with handling life. I haven't yet mentioned the emotional roller coaster. I don't even really know how to express that one. But it hurts. It physically hurts to drop them both off each morning, and sometimes I can barely breathe I miss them so much.

In the midst of the crazy, there is sweetness. It's nice to be back in the classroom--I'm gradually relaxing back into teaching, and there are moments where I am genuinely comfortable and excited. At home there are cuddles and kisses and the beauty of my family in the fall. As Ben piled pillows on me and dug me out to safety and freedom, all the while telling Emma to watch, I felt a peace and a joy in my home. At the end of a crazy day, including my second work shift of making dinner, folding diapers, and all the things I have to do here, my beautiful children and dashing husband are there, and that's what matters.

It will take a long time for me to figure out how to live this new life. And patience. Maybe a personal assistant. Also wine.