Mission: Not Accomplished

Do you remember the typewriter?  You know what I’m talking about. . . the click of the keys, the ding indicating the end of the line, and the zip as you move the paper back to starting position before rolling the paper to the next line:

click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-ding!-zip-roll
click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-ding!-zip-roll
click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-ding!-zip-roll
click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-ding!-zip-roll

I didn’t use a typewriter much while I was growing up, but I do remember them vaguely.  I can remember scenes on t.v. that showed a frustrated writer yanking a half filled sheet of paper out of the feed roller (yeah, I had to look that word up) and throwing it into the trashcan.  The camera would pan from the writer to the trashcan giving the viewer a look at a basket over flowing with crumbled up paper.  

That’s how today felt. . . screw up after screw up. 

Since Chad was going to be gone this week, I was actually looking forward to spending some concentrated  one-on-one time with the kids.  My hope was to plan fun activities that would be special and outside of the norm of our usual day to day activity. 

Mission:  Not accomplished. 

I found my patience diminishing with each passing hour and my creativity was sapped.  Words of excitement and enthusiasm were replaced with barking orders and frustration.  In essence. . . it was a crappy day.

As the day came to a close and it was time for the kids to go to bed. . . I sat them down, for the second night in a row, and offered my apologies.  It wasn’t their fault.  They didn’t know that my “pre-surgery” to-do list remains untouched.  They didn’t know that I’m worried that I have yet to buy any of their Christmas gifts and after Friday I am immobile until the new Year.  They didn’t know that I’m completely bummed that I have not and will not be able to do my usual Christmas baking.  They didn’t know that I am overwhelmed with worry about how I am going to care for them while I am immobile. 

They didn’t know. . . and they shouldn’t know. 

I could go on. . . but I won’t.  I guess there are some days that are just not as good as I’d like.  And while I would like to keep this blog focused on the good things. . . I feel I do a disservice if I am not honest about the not so good things.  This is motherhood.  Every day is not as wonderful and lovely as I’d like. . . there are days when I breathlessly pant my way through until I surge my way across the finish line (a.k.a.: bedtime). 

These days are important, too, though.  They help give me perspective and energize me to clear my head of the clutter.

So tonight. . . as my sweet ones lay resting peacefully in their beds, I am emptying my wastebasket.  I’m not just emptying it. . . I’m taking it out through the garage and putting it at the curb, knowing it will be carried away in a big truck amongst the trash of others, never to be be thought of again. . .

Ahhh. . . that feels good.

Oh, and just for the record. . . it wasn’t all bad. . . we did have a fun time at Charlie’s pre-school’s Reindeer Tea. 

Oh, and I won’t forget this little moment when Chanelle was showing me her newest dance move.  Notice her tongue?  That is her “I’m-embarassed-shy-excited-and-a-little-self-conscious”expression. . . one of my favorites.

Here’s to a new day. . .