For the love of chaos

What is my major malfunction?

Where do I even start?? Well it took me 42 years but I found that other than the love of those I hold dearest to my heart (which I cannot survive without), sarcasm, comic relief and a few uninterrupted hours of crafting my butt off usually pulls me out of my funk.

I’m 42 years old. I have one ovary left to represent my internal femininity.  One ovary left to produce the necessary hormone levels to keep me from getting a hairy face, hot flashes, (worse) mood swings, (more) brittle hair and nails, and more wrinkles and gray hair. That is depressing and frightening, isn’t it? I think I’ve spent more money this year on bottled water and moisturizing agents than I have food and toilet paper. You know, they’re all staples. So how does one decide what’s more important?? 

I haven’t worked out or tried to eat a balanced, healthy diet in…well, a very ,very long time. I stopped counting, honestly, so I’m guessing it’s been over a year. I’ve been paying for a gym membership for 2 years, a gym that I’ve only ever stepped into 6 times in the last 2 years. Of those 6 times do you know how many times I’ve worked out there? None. Not one time. But I’ve tanned a few times.  So I guess it was worth the $500 or so that I’ve spent for that membership. I meant to cancel it a couple weeks ago but then the annual charge made it through my bank account before I could find the time….so here’s to the next 12 months since the bastards won’t refund my annual fee if I cancel it now. I guess that should be some sort of motivation to actually start working out. Oh, the hell with it. I’m sure it’ll be another well spent $284 for the year. I’m looking pretty pale these days.

Not only is my health a catastrophe, my house is a disaster area. I’m pretty sure I’d go to jail for hoarding and child endangering if anyone ever actually came and saw it besides the few people that love me enough to visit a couple times of year and not cast judgment. It’s not that I don’t clean it. I just don’t clean as often as is necessary to keep up with a grown man and woman, a teenager, a toddler and a dog.  My messes are big enough. Asking me to keep up with theirs too is ludicrous. So my brave, loving friends and family are just going to have to take some Benadryl and deal with the dog hair and dust.

Sure, I could clean after work.  Right after I cook dinner, do the dishes, yell at my dog 72 times for eating out of the trash can, answer all 64 of the questions about Halloween, mini corn dogs, poop and monsters in the closet that my toddler has for me, spend 30 minutes trying to teach that toddler his ABC’s and the theory of gravity (because he starts Kindergarten in 10 months and I wouldn’t want him turned down or falling behind), listen to my teenager tell me about the latest Katy Perry download and how lucky he got playing Fallout 4 last weekend (one of the best parts of my day, by the way), gathering tomorrows outfits for work and school, giving the toddler a bath while he somehow manages to not leave one square inch of ‘dry’ anywhere in the bathroom, brushing the toddlers teeth while he insists on talking the entire time, spending 20 minutes convincing the toddler that there are no monsters, ghosts or bad guys in his closet because they don’t exist and if they did they would be made to wear socks on their smelly feet, brush their teeth and say their ABC’s every night before bed and 10 minutes trying to have meaningful conversation with my husband who is clearly as tired and stressed out as I am. If only that last 30 minutes of my day, when I can barely keep my eyelids from drooping and my words from slurring were enough to actually clean my house.

Dealing with a toddler and a teenager at the same time is quite entertaining. Sometimes I laugh so hard I actually pee a little. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me a little loony at times too.  Being a mother to a teenager is very different than being a mother to a toddler. I often have to use a different tone of voice, depending on who I’m talking to and God forbid the teenager think I’m making fun of him using my toddler mom voice! Or the eyeballs I get from the toddler when he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Why can’t he reach the washer dial yet anyway?

Sometimes I use the toddler mom voice with my husband. That’s not usually as funny to him. I’m just glad he believes me when I apologize and say I didn’t mean it. He doesn’t always get my sarcasm. Men. He needs to lighten up before I stop washing his socks too.

Who finishes the laundry anyway? I can’t remember the last time I went into the laundry room and there was no dirty laundry.  In fact, I can’t recall if that’s ever happened other than the day we moved into the house. Inevitably, every time I get to the bottom of the basket there is someone in the bathroom just waiting to drop a dirty pair of undies down the shoot. I swear it’s like they’re spying on me. There are plus sides to doing the laundry though. Sometimes I actually get paid to do it. It’s not much but it sometimes buys me taco bell for lunch. That’s a delicacy in our world.

Grocery shopping is a chore, let me tell you. Me and my Tanner are a little silly between 5:30 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. when we’re strolling the isles of Kroger.  It’s the only time I can get away with singing out loud, farting (He exposes me every time. As loud as he can.), and riding on the cart in public. So what’s the chore, you ask? Remembering what the hell I went there to buy!! We’re having so much fun I often have to go up and down the same isle 3-4 times before I remember what I’m looking for.  I make lists, often. I usually leave them in the car or at work but even when I remember to bring them into the store…..my $30 list turns into a $130 list because I’m an impulse shopper. And who isn’t starving by 5:30 p.m.? I know they say don’t shop when you’re hungry but shit, I’m not going back at 9:30 p.m. after all my other ‘chores’. That’s insane. More importantly, if I make a habit out of it my husband will think I’m cheating on him when really, it’s only taking 2 hours because I enjoy the time alone. And why do that to the man?

How much time do I actually get alone? You can’t really count bathroom trips. Anyone with children knows that only happens about once every 6 months. Even at work people will tap on the door to let me know they are leaving or that someone is in the waiting area. That would be the same waiting area just outside of the bathroom. Yeah. THAT’S not an uncomfortable situation at all. I guess I can count my time alone in the car.  It takes approximately 20 minutes to get to my office in the morning and 25 minutes to get home.  That’s 45 minutes a day, alone, in my car, driving 8 miles round trip on a busy roadway with people who love to text and drive, ride my ass, cut me off, swerve into my lane, honk because my law abiding ass is apparently annoying them when I actually stop at the red lights, and drive 15 miles under the speed limit just to piss me off.  That has got to be pleasant, right?

Driving used to be fun and exciting.  I’d listen to the radio and jam as I took my travelling, happy ass down the road.  Now I just want to run people off the road, scream obscenities and figure out how to make my car fly. Driving isn’t fun any more. The roads are too overpopulated, much like this planet. I’m so crazed while driving that I can’t even hear Justin Lynch belt out some ‘Small Town Boy” because apparently Paw Patrol has a new character and someone doesn’t like red grapes, not to mention that jerk that pulled out in front of me as slowly as he possibly could only to make a left turn without using his blinker.  Driving time is not a good time to try to relax. 

No, I don’t get much time alone. I’m not sure what I would do with it if I did. I’d likely listen to some good music and fall asleep.  That would be fabulous! Falling asleep is never a problem. I could do that standing up or in the middle of a conversation. Staying asleep is the challenge as of late. My brain decides it’s time to think about every single thing I did and didn’t do the previous day as well as what I need to do when I wake up for good that day. “Why can’t I sleep?? Did I brush my teeth before bed? How am I going to get rid of this eye baggage?? What is that God awful smell? Did I remember to turn off all the lights at the office? I wonder how much it would cost for 5, 6-packs of Hershey’s chocolate bars. Does corn really serve a nutritious purpose?” Who needs sleep, anyway? Right?

There is so much craziness in this noggin, day and night. I think I know myself pretty well at this point in my life. I mean, I’m a pretty intelligent person. Stubborn, but not really an idiot. I count my blessings, non stop, every single day.  I can’t always stop my heart from hurting but I can chose not to let it dictate my entire day. I can’t fix everything all the time but I can manage that time a little better.  Everyone is counting on me and there’s always a ‘job to do’. I’m ok with that. It gives me purpose and reason. I love being the mom of an adult, a teenager and a toddler all at the same time. It keeps things interesting. Quiet, calm and relaxed was never my style anyway. I kind of like the chaos. I mean, this is life, right? There is a lot of sarcasm here and it may sound like a lot of complaining. But did you smile even once while reading it? I smiled while writing it, a lot. I guess I need to do more of that. More smiling, yes…and breathing. Breathing is good.  I need to do more of that too.  I will aspire to do more loving though I do that a whole lot anyway. I can’t help it. I just love big. Too big, maybe? I don’t know. But I won’t stop. My babies love me big…so I must be doing something right. Oh, the thought of not having those peanuts in my life hurts to even think about.

I’m not malfunctioning. I’m living. Life is crazy.  Life is hard. But life is a blessing.  So bring on the dust, the dirt, the traffic, the chaos. I’ll take better care of me because I know that’s important, not just to me, but to everyone counting on me. I’m counting on them too, to have patience with me and love me anyway.  They always have. So why in the world am I worried? <3 Thank God for my crazy life.