It’s not easy being a mess. What’s even harder is being a mess with 3 children, and caring about being a mess. The burden of mess is harder to bear when you are concerned about the people around you being affected by said mess. “Please excuse me while I drag my children to preschool drop off. My life is in shambles.”
I’d like to further expound on ways in which I am discombobulated in this free form thought dump.
None of my three (THREE!!!) children can currently buckle their own car seat. I’ve got the hand mobility of an elderly woman who worked 47 years on an assembly line screwing on doll heads. That analogy was a stretch, but this is a thought dump dammit and I’m a purist, so it stays. I’m always late to pre-k because I can not be anywhere on time. I can be there 5-15 minutes within the time I am supposed to show up. Prompt people are like magical unicorns to me. How do they do it? How do they plan for traffic, a lost shoe, trying to get the jelly on a sandwich? “Kaley, can’t you just….?” No. I really can’t. The past 29 years have proved that.
Preschool drop off is ruining my life. I have to (parallel) park. I have to take all three kids inside. MJ never wants to go and makes me look like a terd every. single. day. Henry just hangs on for dear life. Owen has barely been going to school for a week and I’ve already hit the car of a fellow mom. Which is, in a word, mortifying. I feel like doing this every time I see her:
Every day I think “This is the day. The day I am on time.”
It’s never that day people. That day only comes when Nick gets involved and gives me minute by minute warnings about how I am doing with my time.
How mornings piloted by mercurial mom play out:
“Hey we should leave!”
“Oh, I forgot Owen’s backpack”
“Where’s my phone??”
*goes back inside*
“For the love of everything HOLY HURRY UP!!”
And the truly worst part is that I could offer an excuse for my lateness every day. I could. I could say “Today, someone lost a sock” “fell down as we were leaving” “There was a blocked road” “A flooded street” “A bad hair day” But when it’s everyday, these excuses cease to become excuses and rather become this:
So, here I stand. A cautionary tale. Organized mothers look at me and say “That’s sad.” And I kind of just nod and go “I know.”
I guess my life with 3 kids 4 and younger is not going to look graceful or breezy or simple or light. It’s going to be unwieldy, occasionally loud, often frazzled and sometimes embarrassing.
I’m challenging myself to walk in with a smile to preschool on Friday. I’m going to say “Good Morning!” and then tell Owen to have the best day! And then I’m going to turn around and drag Maisy and Henry out and try not to look like a delusional maniac.