On occasion, I will receive an email from a reader that asks, "How do you do it?" And upon reading, I can’t help but ask, “Do what? This?” As I casually glance around, admiring my ramshackle kitchen, remnants of the last meal fed to The Toddler caked on the pantry door and floor beneath the high chair and approximately 472 toys strewn around the family room tornado-style. I could easily explain how that happens. In fact, it could be summed up in one word: Motherhood.
The email so sweetly goes on to commend my baking ability, mad craft skills and talent required to do all things daily while managing not to lose The Crazy Toddler Wildebeest. Which, Loyals, I fear is something that may happen any day now. In fact, I’ve taken to locking all exterior doors because a certain Someone has singlehandedly developed a knack for turning doorknobs.
The email further commends my "natural," (excuse me while I scoff at the word, Scoff Scoff!), capacity for appearing as if I “do it all” while wearing freshly hot-rolled hair and hot skinny jeans.
Am I writing the same blog that you all are reading? You guys crack me up.
I am here to tell you, sweet Loyals, this is so not the case. I hardly have it all together and most days? I’m lucky to change out of my standard mom-i-form of black sweats and long-sleeved maternity T.
Most days? I pacify The Toddler with a banana and a movie on the iPad while confined to the Pack and Play so that I can sneak in an extra 45 minutes of sleep at the ungodly hour of 7 in the morning. I only begin to peel myself from the sheets as The Toddler begins throwing one leg over the side of the Toddler Prison in a kamikaze-style attempt at a breakout.
On the days I bake something? It usually means I plan on presenting that to The Husband as an excuse as to why I haven’t prepared dinner that evening.
Oh and crafting? I have no idea where and when I got bit by that bug. But on the days that The Toddler doesn’t nap and I find myself just one Cheeto shy of locking myself in the bathroom? I pull out a wreath or some card stock and count to 100 all while precariously handling a glue gun and trying to keep The Toddler from stashing party napkins and styrofoam plates down the heat register.
I do try to maintain a happy, well-adjusted household. Does it happen every day? Oh, heck no. Thankfully I am married to a man who doesn’t necessarily mind seeing my hair tied up in the same mom-knot every day. Or if he does, he at least knows better than to say something about it.
I will admit to squeezing in at the very least a shower just minutes before The Husband walks through the door so that he doesn’t oft mistake a slight odor that emanates from my personal space for one of The Toddler’s dirty dipes.
The Husband is truly a domestic saint of a partner. We share your typical household chores and while I do attempt accomplishing one Household Task per day, such as mopping/dusting/vacuuming or the utmost achievement of not only washing a load of laundry but drying, folding and putting it away too, (ohmygod, does that really ever happen?) whatever is not done during the week is gladly tackled together on the weekend.
So dear Loyals, please do not be fooled. I do not have it all together. In fact, I hardly do.
But? I kind of pride myself on making a mess at the end of the day. It means we lived. It means I got down on the floor and played with Carter and eventually got sidetracked as we moved onto a messy mealtime or wandered down to the playroom, our favorite room in the house to mess up. Sure, it also means that C probably watched Madagascar for the 700th time while I wrote this post, but shortly after? We ran around outside instead of going to the grocery store to pick up fixings for dinner.
Another night of leftovers it is.. So like the saying goes, "I may not have it all together, but together? We certainly have it all."
Happy Wednesday and Happy February, Loyals!