My life feels like I am in a constant state of Survival Mode. It wasn't always like this. Back when Matt and I were in our 20s, Survival Mode consisted of the two or three weeks before a baby arrived and maaaaaaybe six weeks postpartum. I bounced back quickly. Life was simpler.
Homeschooling was less complicated, as I only had a couple different sets of books to follow.
Fewer children meant fewer meltdowns, doctor appointments, teeth to brush, smaller meals to make, and more time alone with Matt in the evenings because everyone was in bed by 7p .
The Eight Wonders of my World now range in age from 6 months to 13 years.
Grades range from "full-time baby care" to "HOW IN THE PANTS DID 8th GRADE GET SO HARD?!?"Meltdowns are harder because I'm not functioning at peak strength...truthfully, most meltdowns during the day are my own. The doctor's office has me on speed dial, to make it easier to remind me of all the appointments I have scheduled (and the ones I may have missed). I don't exactly have more teeth to brush, but I have more sets of teeth to check over and finish up. With children that have oral sensory issues, children that will only eat peanut butter, and children that won't ever stop eating, meal preparation has become extremely complicated. Now bedtimes range from "he fell asleep in his peanut butter sandwich at dinner" to "it's 9:45 and Sarah needs to have a deep conversation about the Coriolis Effect". Alone time with Matt is non-existent.
It was only a few months ago that Matt innocently mentioned to me that maybe it was time we admitted that Lucy was not a newborn anymore and maaaaaaybe we couldn't live in Survival Mode forever.
I paused in white, hot rage.
"I DON'T LIVE IN SURVIVAL M---...," I began yelling.
oh wait
Yes, I do.
I've been in survival mode since Esther was born. Life has been a steady stream of blessings upon challenges since the Queen arrived, and I've never felt that I truly caught my breath.
Every morning, I thank God for another opportunity to try again.
"TODAY WILL BE THE DAY THAT I - - - -!"
and then I fill in the blank with something extremely appropriate and also attainable and measurable so that I don't fail in the first 5 minutes.
Usually, I start with something like "clean the entire house, give away all books/toys/clothes that aren't in use, and cook a healthy dinner."
I repeat the words in my head and realize that maybe I've overstretched already, since I *do* have to also homeschool, breastfeed, bathe the three littles, potty train the toddler, cut the 5 boys' hair, and drive back and forth to the dance studio 3 separate times that day.
Oh, and that doctor appointment I scheduled a couple months ago is this morning at 7:15.
I bring Charles to the doctor and, on the way there, I take a deep breath and give myself a grand pep-talk about how I might be able to conquer MOST of what I promised myself. Maybe I'd only have time to clean half the house. But I was absolutely, definitely, without-a-doubt going to finish the healthy meal thing and the giving-away bit.
Charlie is a perfect 2 year old. He stuns the doctor with his vocabulary, is beautifully smooshy and healthy and charms the nurses. I am thrilled, and feel almost invincible, as if Charlie's performance for the health care professionals that morning was some type of reflection on my parenting. I also feel like I should be adding some MORE goals to my list for the day. I forget that Charles is 2. (Remember, dear ones, whether a child is well-behaved OR tantruming on the floor in front of the altar in the middle of Easter services, that none of this is a reflection of your parental aptitude.) On the way out of the office, Charlie reminds me that I am not in charge and have never been. He also shows me that any assumptions I may have had over the past 45 minutes about my responsible parenthood or accolades I just mentally bestowed upon myself because of his performance are mere mirages.
Charlie loses his mind in the parking lot.
Because he cannot see the moon any longer.
He then screams the entire way home.
My victory lap of a drive home from Almont was not as enjoyable as you would have imagined. Between shrieks from my raging Jack-Jack in the back seat, I calm myself with thoughts of the other offspring at home...definitely more peaceful children, more stable, more helpful. This is just a snapshot in time, Anne! You have conquered mountains in other areas! Focus on something positive!
Homeschooling! Today is going to be a great day of homeschooling!
I get home. Put Charlie at the table with a yogurt and promises that the moon will return in less than 12 hours. I tell him he can scream for that period of time orrrrrrr he can eat this yogurt and then go play while he waits.
I tell Tommy to open his history book.
I'm about to prove to myself how successful I am at homeschooling.
ok. not so much.
Moving on.
Charlie has decided the moon is bad and has now taken a fly swatter around the house and hit 4/7 siblings.
I put him in a time out, confiscate the weapon and return to the living room to find that each and every school-aged child has ABANDONED their books and is now assuming some type of tumbling/dance pose.
I take a remarkably short breath in and yell, "HOW IN THE WORLD AM I GOING TO GET ANYTHING DONE TODAY?!?"
Because, obviously, my children are born with an innate sense of responsibility and perception. They KNOW that I promised myself all sorts of things this morning. They are intentionally trying to derail my day.
MY day.
you know.
MINE.
hehehehehe
I remember now that the Anne that made a list of objectives that morning had also forgotten that the children also made their own individual lists of objectives.
It doesn't matter if their lists include action items like:
-finally climb to the top shelf of the pantry without a ladder
-build that 1,675 piece Lego set on my 15 minute break before lunch
-pee on a puzzle
-find where mom hid the chocolate and spend all day sneaking pieces and hiding the wrappers in my pillowcase
As I read these, I understand that their goals are not dissimilar to mine in loftiness.
We pray our family rosary.
Lucy has a blowout and requires immediate changing.
Also, immediate feeding.
As I sit down to nurse her, I look over my unopened e-mails and realize that I scheduled a SECOND doctor's appointment for that same day!
Sarah insists that she can watch the kids and feed them lunch.
I go into panic mode and begin reprioritizing the rest of the day, in which I have already accomplished nothing but ALL THE CHILDREN HAVE DONE MOST OF THE THINGS ON THEIR INDIVIDUAL LISTS, including peeing on that blasted puzzle.
After I bark out orders calmly remind the children of their schooling responsibilities, I put my shoes on and prepare to leave the house. I take a quick look at my phone and do a double take at the calendar date. Ahhhhh, wait. I was wrong. Next appointment is actually tomorrow.
The tizzy I have thrown my brain into already is hard to recuperate from.
I make another pot of coffee and sit down on the couch, baby in lap, and look around the room.
Reality hits:
Nothing is going to get done today.
The kids are growing up so fast.
Survival Mode has become a way of life, but it won't always be.
Someday, I will grow up and learn that my list of objectives for the day is whatever God places there.
By the time my head hits the pillow that night, I am in a state of complete surrender.
But, very much like Charlie's moon, my expectations return in less than 12 hours...
and I start all over again the next morning with a new list because
"TODAY WILL BE THE DAY THAT I - - - -!"
