The First Step Is Admitting You Have a Problem

"There is more to life than increasing its speed." - Mahatma Gandhi

I leave in the morning for my annual trek to the AWP Conference, this year in Boston.  I'm leaving with my homework done for this week, a packet submitted for the program, "spring break" for school waiting after the trip, four manuscripts formatted and sent to print in February, a grant written and almost submitted, all of the laundry in the house done, dishes washed, fridge stocked, living room and dining room vacuumed and clean, and all of my children healthy.  I've got my son home from Akron Children's Hospital after discovering a FREAKING KIDNEY STONE on Saturday.  A KIDNEY STONE.  In a FIVE YEAR OLD.  Why, Universe, Why?

I've also finished several glasses of wine.

My husband is supposed to fly in tonight from Baltimore to Cleveland, but it's delayed, hopefully not cancelled.  I need to leave the house at 5 a.m. to go to Boston from Cleveland.  If he's cancelled, he's arranged for a friend to come over to be with the kids so I can leave.  Which is helpful.  At least there's a contingency plan.

My eye won't stop twitching.  It's been doing it for weeks now, and it's really starting to drive me nuts.  I feel a little bit like Meryl Streep in It's Complicated, holding my eye lid up with my finger all day.

I need this trip, even though it is work and I have about fifteen different responsibilities while I'm there, I need this trip to try to regain some sanity, to try to slow down for just a second and not feel guilty for not doing something I should be doing.  Like right now, I should be putting the clean clothes away.  I should be sweeping the kitchen floor.  I should be reading through the school newsletter so that I know what's going on with Lydia's class.  I should know something about what's going on in my kids' school lives.  I shouldn't be blogging.  I shouldn't be whining.  I should just get over it, suck it up, like I've been doing, and stop making such a big deal out of it because it isn't a big deal, right, right?! RIGHT!?

Only I'm so tired.  I can't sleep, though, because if I sleep I'll dream about flies hatching from underneath my fingernails, like last night.  If I sleep, I'll miss my alarm and miss my plane.  If I try to go to sleep before I'm thoroughly worn out I will lie there and catalog whatever it is that is left to do on my to-do list that I'm ill prepared for or certain to forget about in the morning.  Better to Google, "How to know when you're having a nervous breakdown."  Better to watch Harry Potter #3 and drink another glass of wine and eat another piece of dark chocolate.

I want to quit everything.  I want to quit, to quit, to quit, burrow under my blankets and stay there until the Universe remembers that I am its center and it should do exactly as I tell it to, like we've discussed several times before, but noooooo, the Universe ignores me and does whatever the heck it wants.

I didn't work today because of the whole five-year-old-in-the-hospital-for-freaking-kidney-stones episode, which actually allowed me the space and time to reassemble the house that exploded on Saturday with unfolded/crumpled clothing and dirty dishes from Saturday from the dinner I made but didn't eat because of the kidney-stone-episode.

Let me pause in my ridiculous four-year-old tantrum that I'm throwing to tell you how incredibly grateful I am for so many friends and family members who came to the rescue with prayers and help with kiddos this weekend.  I don't know what I would have done without you.  Really.

And that's what it might boil down to, right there, that's what this all distills down to.  I know I'm not alone, but I feel so alone.  I don't want to ask for help because I'm always asking for help, but if I don't ask for help my eye twitches more and my heart starts to race and my hands start to shake and I start bawling my eyes out like I'm doing right now sitting in my kitchen sobbing like a four-year-old that's denied his ice cream cone.  I feel guilty for asking for help because I should be able to DO THIS, it isn't that hard, what's so hard about working and taking care of your kids and doing a little reading and writing here and there?  What's the big deal?  Why can't I keep it together?

I don't know what to give up or let go in order to regain some semblance of sanity.  And because I don't know what to give up, I want to quit it all, to say goodbye to work and to school, to retreat into my house and leave only to get my kids off to their respective schools, buy groceries, and go to yoga when I can because I need someone to remind me to breathe.  

But, like I've said a thousand times before on this blog, I am not a four-year-old who has been denied an ice cream cone.  I am a wife.  I am a mother.  I am a faithful employee.  I believe in my work and my family and my marriage and my God and my writing, and I know what I do is good and right, and I need to keep doing it, even though right now I'd like to curl into the cave.  This is what we do.  We keep on going.  It's only one really, really, really, long season.  It has to end sometime.

So, *deep sigh* I will finish this post, switch the last load of laundry, refill my wine glass, turn on something light and funny, or Harry Potter #3, and stop thinking for a while.  Whatever I forgot to pack can be purchased in Boston.  They actually have stores there, so no big thing.  And, if I do miss my alarm and miss my flight, hey, guess what, they fly more than one airplane to Boston.  Perhaps the hardest thing about this mini-mental-breakdown season of my life is that I know it isn't futile.  I know there's hope and an answer to the busyness, and I know that part of my problem is pride--I am proud of keeping this life balanced precariously on the edge of sanity.  Look at me, I'm doing it, I'm surviving!  But I don't want to just survive.  I want to thrive.  To live a life of contentment, as recommended by the good ol' Solomon in Ecclesiastes:

"Go then, eat your bread in happiness and drink your wine with a cheerful heart; for God has already approved your works.  Let your clothes be white all the time, and let not oil be lacking on your head.  Enjoy life with the woman whom you love all the days of your fleeting life which He has given to you under the sun; for this is your reward in life and in your toil in which you have labored under the sun.  Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might; for there is no activity or planning or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol where you are going.  I again saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift and the battle is not to the warriors, and neither is bread to the wise nor wealth to the discerning nor favor to men of ability; for time and chance overtake them all.  Moreover, man does not know his time: like fish caught in a treacherous net and birds trapped in a snare, so the sons of men are ensnared at an evil time when it suddenly falls on them" (9:7-12)

Perhaps the only real crisis will be if I don't hurry up and refill this wine glass.

Tomorrow is a new day with its own worries, and thank God, thank GOD, THANK GOD His mercies are new every morning.  He is faithful, even if his faithfulness appears in my mind like Trace Adkins shaking his head and singing, "You're gonna miss this, you're gonna want this back, you're gonna wish these days, hadn't gone quite so fast, these are the good times, take a good look around, you may not know it now, but you're gonna miss this."  I am grateful for the myriad ways He has been merciful.  God, not Trace.  Although maybe Trace Adkins is also merciful, I don't know.

 

Advent Day 13: A Special Treat

Public Service Announcement: Tonight's post is written with chocolate and merlot, preceded by a chocolate chip cookie, potentially followed by more chocolate. And more merlot.

I'm not sure why tonight beat the snot out of me. Maybe several weeks of whizzing about has finally provoked the over-tired toddler in me to throw a tantrum.  After I picked up the kids from their respective child care locales, we grabbed a hot-and-ready pizza from Little Caesars and darted home to eat in a hurry before Lydia's basketball practice.  After last time, there was no way in heaven or on Earth I was going to wrestle Henry into captivity for an entire hour in the gym, so while Lydia practiced, the boys and I went to Hawkins to pick up some groceries (yay, no grocery shopping tomorrow!) and to cash in the advent activity for today-- pick out a special treat.  We visited the delicious Hawkins bakery and bought two iced sugar cookies for Lydia and Elvis, a spritz snowman for Henry, and a chocolate chip cookie for mama.

Let. Me. Go!

Lyd had pictures tonight, too, so there was no avoiding bringing the boys back into the gym for the remainder of practice.  I should've gotten Henry a bigger cookie, ("Stillwell, angel, have another chocolate bar!") because he gobbled up the spritz snowman before I could say, Frosty the Snowman had to hurry on his way... which is what I wanted to do, hurry on our way.  Henry tried to escape but I was too fast for him and found some Thomas the Tank Engine video through the YouTube app on my phone, which pacified him long enough for practice to end.  Then, it was standing about with a 30-pound squirming worm in my arms and a 5-year-old clinging to my pantleg like I asked him not to five THOUSAND times while we waited for every girl on the team to get her picture taken.  On the way to the car, Henry kept squawking, "AWK! AWK!" so I let him walk but forced him to hold my hand, which he hated and did the wet-noodle-collapse-on-the-asphalt trick.  I picked his arched self up, which he hated even more, and tried to put him in his carseat, but it's hard to bend a U-shaped body back to a sitting position.  "Sit DOWN!  Mama's gonna lose it in a minute, Henry!" I squeaked.  All three kids laughed at me.

God, I love parenting.

Then it was home to take the fastest bath on the planet-- in fact, I'm not sure the boys got wet at all-- and then to bed to bed to bed!  Yay!  The older two were out before I headed back down the stairs, but I don't think Henry stopped singing and talking to himself until almost 9 p.m. He'll be buckets of fun tomorrow. 

The tantrum-throwing, over-tired toddler in me could've crawled underneath a crocheted blanket and watched a romantic comedy, but tomorrow is trash day, and thank God I saw the Hawkins plastic bag on the table because I would've forgotten all about the bags of eggs, sausage, bacon, and yogurt just waiting to spoil in the back of the kid hauler.  Trash can on the curb, groceries in the refrigerator, sticky spot on the floor grabbing my sock every time I walk past the silverware drawer.  Oh. Well.

I unloaded the dishwasher but turned off the light in the kitchen before I could notice the sink still full of dishes from this morning. But I had to flick the switch back on to find the wine and chocolate.  Don't worry, I was careful to shield my eyes and then dashed away again.  I'm safe now in the living room away from those oatmeal-crusted bowls and those lipstick-stained coffee mugs.

I thought about the laundry briefly, but blogging about advent seemed like a much better use of my time, even though I don't think Henry is going to be wearing any pants tomorrow. 

All of this to say tonight was one of those nights that makes me want to quit. All things. Am I absolutely insane to think I can do this AND take classes toward a master's degree?  I can't keep all of *this* (waving arms frantically, the universal symbol for utter chaos and disorder) together as it is.  Yeah, I see you --  o.O  -- stop looking at me like that.  We serve crazy here every night.

My advent calendar could've ended December 19-- all I'm anticipating right this minute is the end of work for 2012 and the beginning of agenda-free Christmas vacation.  That whole waiting-to-celebrate-the-birth-of-baby-Jesus-God-with-us-prince-of-peace thing is totally overrated.  Okay, not really.  I just want to see my husband for more than a couple of hours before he takes a plane to another state, to disengage my alarm for two whole weeks, to shift into a slower pace of life instead of this frantic running all the time.

And all I really want for Christmas is to think only about family, friends, love, joy, and peace... and to indulge in tasty food and good wine.  Bring it, Advent.  Bring. It. On. 

Life with Kids, Diet, and Exercise

I like to challenge myself occasionally to see just how much we can jam into a few hours or a few days and still survive.  In order to prove to myself that I can and WILL continue living life with three kids and a husband away for the evening, I think, "Hmmm, what would my husband/mom/mom-in-law think I was crazy for trying to do on my own?" and then I take a deep breath and yell, "Kids! Get your shoes!"

I will not be held hostage to the house because it's too much work to do anything else, especially to go to a friends' bbq.

So tonight when I got home and it was raining (YES!  Rain!  Soccer practice cancelled!), I decided to first take advantage of the awesomeness that is the Ashland YMCA and its free child watch program from 5:15-8:15 Monday-Thursday and get a little workout in before we headed over to the bbq we had initially bailed on because of E's soccer practice. 

Before leaving I steamed some broccoli and cut up some strawberries, and then for fun I thought, hey, we have some kale that needs to be used, I'll make kale chips too!  (This is the part where a friend at the party might think, hey, I didn't see any kale chips, and I'd say, hey, hang on a sec, I'll tell you why.)  While Elvis and Lydia chowed down on some sliced apples and peanut butter and Hank gnawed on an apple... gagging occasionally because he jams the whole thing in his mouth... I preheated, boiled, sliced, and prepped my delicioso goodness. 

I always forget that sea salt is more granular and packs a bigger punch than table salt.  That's kind of an important detail when you are making kale chips.  The kale crisped up real nice like, but oh. my. salt.  Inedible.  Even though I tried to eat them again when we walked in the door an hour or so ago and nearly died choking on a piece.  Henry watched me with silent concern.  Tears, hacking, sneezing, coughing.  Salt.

With steamed broccoli, sliced strawberries, and no kale chips in hand, the kids and I raced off to the Y. Oh how I love to sweat.  I worked my tail feathers off on the elliptical for 30 minutes and then wobbled around to a few weight machines before calling it a day. 

I am new to the world of afternoon exercise.  I am used to getting up around 5:15 a.m. to work out or waiting until after the kids go to bed.  I am not used to a) it being light out and b) having people see me as I bust a move on the elliptical, and by busting a move I mean red-faced, sweat and snot dripping, hair stuck to my forehead move busting.  Hot.  Really, really hot.  It can't be a pretty sight.  In the future, I am going to remember that a 5:15 p.m. workout means more people in the wellness center and that I will also need a shower prior to leaving the building.

Because I am new to afternoon fitness, I did not bring deodorant. Or shampoo. Or soap. Or a towel.  I did bring a change of clothes, so there is that.  There's hope for next time.

Onward, smelly, sweaty mommy!  Onward to the bbq!  Among this group of friends, we have the most kids and the oldest kids.  A couple others have some infants, but we're the crazy people with the crazy kids who touch everything and run and knock things over and beg for more chips and lemonade and who are denied chips and lemonade and who pout and cry about chips and lemonade until it's clear that the chips and lemonade were a bad idea and now it is past our bedtime anyway so let's GO.

I really like trying to make it to things like this because I love these people and enjoy conversation, but I am not always sure whether our kids are a delight or an annoyance, and I am terrified about them being an annoyance.  I worry whether they are behaving well enough to not wear out our welcome, but I also want them to have a good time.  I don't want them to be those kids or for us to be that family.  Here they come! Ah! Run away!

It's partly due to the fact that we have some kidless friends and by default kidless friends don't have to deal with kids all of the time, so I just expect them to be overwhelmed by my herd.  This expectation launches me into overdrive parenting.  Behave so these people will keep wanting to be our friends!  I want to whisper to the kids.  This is probably unnecessary; I don't think our friends think we're the crazy parents with the crazy kids.  I think they think our kids are kids, hyper, silly, goofy, lovely kids.  But that doesn't stop me from the paranoia that our kidless friends are going to say adios to the Wellses because they don't want to deal with our little people anymore.

The bbq was quite nice, and the food was AMAZING. The grillmaster did a phenomenal job on some pork loin and chicken in particular.  The kids managed to enter and exit the scene without breaking or spilling anything, and Henry only whined and squirmed most of the time.  I left too late, which compounded silliness with sleepiness, but Henry conked out quick when we got home and the older two were asleep shortly after that.  Deep sigh.  Silence.

School has started, indeed, and with it the nine-month sprint to accomplish the next goal.  On the agenda for the weekend: the first soccer games.  Stay tuned.