It's 2014. Seriously....how on Earth did that happen? And why aren't we all driving flying cars? Because, honestly, when I think back to my (much) younger years, that's one of the features I always assumed would be a part of this time period. I know I'm not alone on this one. Anyone? Anyone?
There are so many amazing posts and articles out right now about starting off the new year, renewed and refreshed, ready for the challenges and growth this affords us. You can read a plethora of literature addressing how to find your mojo this time around, or challenging you to change/grow/etc. There are "Best of" posts, inspirational reads, reflective memoirs and political statements. You name it, they've written it. I, myself, have started a New Year's blog three separate times, determined to join the ranks of writers aspiring to wow the masses with a fresh take on kicking things off. I have favorite holiday memories, nostalgic moments from 2013, goals and dreams for 2014, and verses and/or quotes galore.
And I've decided not to write about any of them. This decision was not born out of any particular design or statement of rebellion or creative genius....I'm not that profound today. I simply don't have it in me to pull that off right now - mostly because it would not be at all authentic, since it's the second day of the year, and I already had an epic meltdown. This evening. At dinner.
It's embarrassing.
Yet, in the interest of full disclosure and my continued commitment to entertain (or horrify) those of you who bless me by reading these posts, I will share my fallacy with you, my friends.
We had a great holiday. It was crazy and beautiful and blessed, as are most events in my life. The kids are enjoying being home. I didn't work last week, and Gregg is off this week, which takes away the stress of child care as I go back to work, but also makes me a little bitter because every morning I have left for work this week everyone else is still sleeping.
I am also having technology frustration (which is nothing new, machines hate me) because my brand new I-phone 5 decided to stop working. As in, weird screen issues leading up to the stupid thing not turning on at all. I've had it 20 days. Which is par for the course, since Sprint doesn't let you change them out without hassle or without the chance of getting a refurbished phone after 14 days. Fabulous. I'll be jousting with the Apple people tomorrow. Wish me luck.
So, I got home from work, completely discombobulated from the phone issue, which is no one's fault (at least no one I live with). The house wasn't totally trashed.......to be fair, the boys had cleaned their room and Gregg had cleaned the shed (insert wry face here). Everyone came running to greet me, Emry wearing pajama pants and no shirt (seriously?). We got dinner pulled together, got kids to the table after only five final calls and started a relatively pleasant meal....which somehow morphed into meal time at a frat house. We went from crazy stories with incredibly loud interruptions to "that's what she said" cracks (even in my horror I couldn't stop laughing) to random name calling to belching rounds to milk spitting to a final culmination in a jalapeno pepper eating competition that ended with Drew freaking out and vomiting into my hands. He then burst into tears, flapping his arms with an intensity that could have conceivably resulted in him taking flight.
And that is when I lost it. The combination of my exhaustion, non-readiness to be back at work, phone frustration, lack of schedule and manners and anything remotely resembling civilized behavior that comes at the end of being out of school/routine for a prolonged period of time all served to push me completely over the edge and into crazy mommy land. I believe my parting shot as I stormed out of the kitchen was, "I do not like any of you people!" Say it with me, peeps. Mother of the Year.
I then proceeded to bawl my eyes out for approximately ten minutes.
Some days I truly pity my family.
However, the storm passed quickly, and we got (relatively) organized and cleaned up, did a popcorn and movie night (organic popcorn, popped in an air popper and topped with fresh rolled butter - I work very hard to balance back into the good mommy arena after my less than stellar moments), and everyone was good to go. Gregg brought us each a beer, patted me on the knee and we settled on the couch to watch football and eat our popcorn. I took a sip of my beer, and then turned to Gregg with this gem, "This beer tastes like fish." Without flinching or looking away from the game, he answered, "I'm sorry to hear that."
I love this man's ability to adapt.
I'm also impressed with the way he is becoming almost unshockable with my randomness.
2014 is off to an incredible start.
Solidarity, sisters. Every day is a new slate.
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