Perfectionist Rehab

Everything was weird today.

My eldest son woke me up at three thirty this morning to give me a stuffed animal.

 “Mommy, you left this stuffie in my bed last night. It’s yours, you should snuggle him.”

This would be adorable usually. It was less cute in the wee hours of the morning.

“Thanks, buddy. You’re so thoughtful.”

He grinned at me.

“Can I go downstairs and have a milk?”

My husband rolled over.

“Buddy, it’s too early to start the day. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

My son harrumphed.

“No fair.”

My husband sighed as he climbed out of bed.

“Come on little dude. Let’s go snuggle.”

He carried our son to his bed and fell asleep with him.

I fell back to sleep and had a nightmare. I don’t remember the details, but I woke up shaking and sweating.

An hour later, my husband was making breakfast while the boys and I watched cartoons and played blocks.

We have a new stove that we’re still getting used to. My husband turned the convection setting on by mistake, and the bacon burnt to a crisp. The steamed artichokes were raw. Our egg whites were still runny in places but burnt in others. My youngest son knocked over my coffee.

My Siberian Husky barked every fifteen minutes to go outside. Come back inside. Go outside. Come back inside.

My eldest son had a few meltdowns. His balloon popped. He stubbed his toe. He dropped his chamomile tea and sloshed it down the front of his shirt. He didn’t feel like using the potty and wet his pants.

My youngest son had a few meltdowns. He wasn’t allowed to put the baby monitor cord into his mouth. His attempts to play in the dog’s water bowl were thwarted. His brother touched his favorite stuffed bear. The cat wouldn’t let him pull his tail.

We tried to laugh about it all. We try to take things lightly and make the best out of every situation.

We couldn’t today.

The four of us go upstairs to get ready for the day. My eldest son swears that his toothpaste is too spicy. He doesn’t want to get dressed. He just wants to go to the park.

My youngest son has a dirty diaper. He doesn’t want to get changed. He kicks me square in the teeth.

My husband takes a shower.

Our youngest tries to climb into the shower, slips, and bonks his head on the edge of the tub.

My eldest son is jumping on the bed. He slips on the blanket and falls off the bed.

They’re both screaming.

The dog barks.

The cat meows for me to turn on the faucet so that he can have a sip of water.

I begin to brush my own teeth. My electric toothbrush runs out of battery in the middle of the session. I use the toothbrush manually and giggle to myself.

Of course. What else would happen right now?

I take my own shower. I got shampoo in my eyes for the first time in months. Rosemary and mint shampoo. It freaking burns. My hairbrush gets stuck in my hair. I lather myself in soap and almost slip in the shower myself after washing my feet.

I get out of the shower. My youngest is adamant that I need to pick him up.

I scoop him. He slaps me square in the face.

I put him down. He screams.

“UP!”

I pick him up. He slaps me again.

I put him down.

My husband comes in to the bathroom.

“Come on, little dude. Let’s go watch a movie while mommy gets ready.”

My eldest freaks out because he wanted to listen to audiobooks.

My eyebrow pencil refused to apply evenly. I had patchwork brows.

I stabbed myself in the eye with mascara.

I lost my favorite lip balm.

All the while, my children are screaming.

The dog is barking.

The cat is meowing.

This was just the first two hours of my morning.

Come noontime, things hadn’t improved. My children refused to nap. They refused to eat. They screamed, hit, and whined as often as they drew breath. My husband saw the writing on the wall and decided to run the weekly errands alone. The boys and I made art. We giggled. We had a dance party. We played tackles. We read books.

By three o’clock, they were finally calm. I turned the television back on and they watched a movie while I read my book. My husband came home and walked the dog. When he came back, I had thirty minutes to myself to work out before we made dinner.

The four of us ate peacefully. The boys had their baths, books, and snuggles.

And I am freaking exhausted.

There is so much chaos in raising tiny people. It’s corralling, regulating, maintaining, and feeding individuals who buck and object and refuse to do the things that keep them alive and healthy.

There are days when I meet it all with grace. I see how small they are and I’m instantly sobered. Humbled. Calm.

There are days like today when I barely hold it together. There’s cognitive dissonance here.

How is it possible for such mundane things to feel so chaotic?

I have no advice. I have no eloquent takeaways.

Today was hard, and I survived.

Huzzah.