I worry a lot. In fact, I worry so much that I worry about the amount of worrying I do. It sometimes becomes this giant circle of worry-suck that follows me around and tries to make me miserable. It’s with me at work, during my commute, at home, in my dreams … it’s just there all the time.
The past few weeks have been rough, y’all. Back to school, the husband being away, baseball practices for the Mouse, long trips, added expenses … all of this makes the worrying a little stronger. And today I woke up and knew this was going to be a stressful day. The first thing I did before I even rolled over and grabbed my phone to check the time was mentally run through everything that I had to accomplish: kids to school, commute, work, meetings, leave early, commute, stop for cold drinks, pick up kids, make sure kid gets changed into practice clothes, dinner, showers, homework, bed — and all the tiny little specifications that went along with all the tasks.
I started to hyperventilate. Okay, maybe not literally hyperventilate, but there was a good 7 minutes where I pulled the covers up over my head and contemplated just not leaving the house for the rest of the day. But eventually I realized that the school would call looking for the Mouse, work would text looking for me, and I needed to suck it up and just deal with this long-ass day, already.
I whine a lot on this blog. I bitch, and moan, and ‘tell it like it is’ when really it’s just me whining — and that’s okay, it’s my space and I’ll do what I want thankyouverymuch. I was all set in my head to whine some more tonight … but a funny thing happened: I rocked this stupid day. I mean, I rocked it hard.
I rocked my meetings at work, and I rocked the actual work afterwards. I rocked collecting my kids during rush hour and even showed up to baseball practice 15 minutes ahead of time. I rocked take out dinner, and when I came home to a puppy who had shat all over her crate, I rocked taking the whole thing outside and hosed it off like a boss. I rocked snarffing down dinner, I rocked hot showers for the boys, I rocked stories and toothbrushing. I rocked making lunches for tomorrow, I rocked a load of laundry, I rocked a glass of wine HARD, and I even rocked the motherfucking Tooth Fairy bit.
My house might be a mess, my calendar might be downright frightening, and I will never EVER be that parent who volunteers to be ‘dug out mom’ … but that’s okay, because I (WE) don’t have to do it all. We have to look at our lists, pick out the ‘musts’ and do those — and then try to rock as many of them as possible.