Honestly.

It's been quiet on the blog, but that is quite the opposite of how things are going in my head and in life in general. There are a lot of things I want to write about and have considered making the blog open to invited readers only, just to make sure I'm not sharing my deep, personal thoughts with the world in general. However, since it's not like I have a lot of time to put all of those deep thoughts down, I'm not making any decisions yet. I really craved writing tonight, though, and decided blogging sounded much better than doing the dishes. You're welcome, reader(s?), for making that tough decision and instead sharing with you what things are honestly like in my head right now.

Adjusting to life with two kids is a
little bit INSANEchallenge. Add work and you've got a recipe for complete cray cray. I find myself exhausted, frustrated and overwhelmed much more than I'd like to admit (but I said I'd be honest, so there you go). I keep telling people that the math doesn't add up - you add one kid, the chaos should double. I feel like it has at the very least quadrupled, although I can't tell if that is normal or if it's primarily because we're single parenting 95% of the time. Either way, it's a lot more than I expected, and there are some days I'm not sure how I managed to get a thing done and I collapse on the couch until Tim comes home from work and we apparently have conversations that I actively participate in and can't recall the next morning.

Life lately looks a lot like this: Elle throws tantrum. I tell her that if she doesn't shape up, she's going straight to bed. Seeing as how it is just after 7 p.m. and nearly two hours before her normal 9 p.m. bedtime, I don't think she'll take kindly to that and figure she'll at least temporarily decide whatever she's fighting about isn't worth it. I'm wrong. She tells me fine. I tell her she'll have no bath toys or books or snack. She says that's OK, asking only if she still gets to wear pajamas. I couldn't back down, especially since she really seemed to want to go to bed, so I gave her a fast bath, jammied her and tucked her in. During the course of this abbreviated night-time routine, I did discuss with her why she was being punished, trying to make sure she understood I wasn't just doing this to vary our evening rituals or get some extra spare time to myself (oh wait - I need a minute to laugh about that). And maybe she was on to something - the girl who normally tosses and turns for an hour or more was passed out cold when I went in to her room eight minutes later to rescue the rogue cat who had been parked under her bed, not expecting her to retire for the evening so soon. So I hope that instead of "Worst Mom Ever" I could be viewed as a helpful "Assistant to Much-Needed Sleep" in this instance. (She also got revenge by leaving 2% of battery on the iPad, thus preventing me from playing Candy Crush. Well played, Elle. Well played.)

But things like that happen on a regular basis. There are fights - over sleep, noise, toys, etc. There are meltdowns (from Elle, Wesley and myself). There are also giggles (Wesley chimes in now, too!). And sighs of relief when things go smoothly. And frozen yogurt as a reward for pooping in the potty instead of continuing the tiny bit of potty training regression with yet another accident in the bed. And declarations of "You're amazing, Mommy!" that I just might ask Elle to repeat over and over just because it usually feels like I am anything but amazing.

There are also times when Elle tells me - and rightfully so, in proper context - to "Chill out, Mommy." Many times when I am so frustrated about things that aren't getting done or have to be changed or aren't going the way I feel they should that I could seriously just scream and cry. (And sometimes silently scream and definitely cry.) I understand that things change when you have a child. Things change again when you have more. But understanding and completely accepting are two entirely different things.

Sometimes I am just not surprised at the things that happen. Like when I frantically tried to quietly but rapidly usher one of our cats off of Elle's play table as I heard the tell-tale sounds that precede kitty puke one morning as I was trying to hurry out the door. My actions were rewarded in that the cat didn't vomit on her toys or table. Instead, he tossed his cookies as he jumped off the table, producing a 3-foot line of puke in front of the couch that I had to clean up before work. I'm not surprised that I have such little time to blog. My nights after the kids go to bed consist of packing my lunch for the next day, preparing bottles for the next day, washing dishes and sometimes pumping. A new-found obsession with "The Voice" sneaks in there sometimes, and Thursday nights are pretty much made for crashing on the couch and watching "Scandal." I'm not surprised that finding time (and energy) to workout is much harder. I'm not surprised by many things that have come with parenthood (single or times two).

But some things still do surprise me, even though they shouldn't. I seem to expect too much, like the understanding of a toddler who is fresh out of the bath and needs to be put in to pajamas while brother screams like a banshee. You would think someone was tearing Wesley's leg off, and Elle prances around the room like we're leisurely preparing for bed. I try to be patient - really, I try - but the screaming gets to me quickly, and I just wanthertoputherunderwearonwithouthoppingfortheloveof ... deep breath. (Can you tell this happened tonight? Because twisting your foot sideways when I try to slide your pajama pants on is NOT HELPING THINGS, ELLE.)

Simple logic - surely that can't be too much to expect from an intelligent three year old, is it? Pauses for slew of comments chastising me for being silly and expecting so much from such a tiny person. Pauses again for comments telling me to enjoy this time (really, people? The blood-curdling screams, too?). Pauses again for comment or two relating to my tale(s) of woe.

I already know I expect too much of a three month old who doesn't really need to wake up 40 minutes after I put him down, sound asleep. My initial reaction is not pleasant, but I quickly remind myself that he's a dozen weeks old and these things are expected of humans so small and new. Although I know that only the screams of said three month old would wake me after 40 minutes of sleep (would, and have, and will), I guess he's still getting used to things and might be easily disturbed from a deep sleep.

Maybe it's because I expect so much of myself that I have these delusional and unrealistic expectations of other things in life. I'm trying to work on it - really, I am. I try to let go a little bit and take a step back, a deep breath, when I'm at the end of my rope. But I'm not perfect. I struggle to find a balance between the productivity that makes me happy and leaves me less jumpy and the peace that allows me to enjoy and take in the little moments and obstacles that make life an adventure. With the opposite schedules that Tim and I have and the fact that all of our family is 1,000 miles away (a fact that we would love to remedy), there are few opportunities to fulfill four key portions of my life: Time for self, time for family, time for Tim and time for friends. There never seems to be enough time in general. And not allowing for the delicate balance of these crucial segments of time is something that is simple to do. It's definitely a work in progress, with many changing factors at play, from serious things like nap schedules to health issues to budget constraints to less serious (depending on who you ask) things like the NFL schedule and the whims of a toddler.

The bottom line? I'm surviving - working on improving, working on accepting and working on the elusive balance. Now if you'll excuse me, there are bottles to prepare and a lunch to be packed.