I’m ready to start over. At no time in my pubescent life did I dream my life would be what I’m living.
Scrap these few months and all their vile! I want a fresh start. I want a do-over.
I’ve made the saying If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger my mantra. Trust me, I’m screaming it.
At this point, I should be able to tackle the Iron Man and not break a sweat.
Get in the ring with Mike Tyson and TKO him to the next life.
Swim the Atlantic and not get one single goosebump.
I should be able to leap tall buildings, run faster than a speeding bullet and defy all the forces that be.
I should be so strong that all the homemade cookies, cakes, and whatnots should flow right through me–rather than stick to me. Oh, wait! I forgot.
I should be so strong I can RESIST all the homemade cookies, cakes and what-not.
Instead, I’m imploding
I’m a time bomb ready to go off.
Let’s talk about my weight.
Two weeks ago I was down one pound.
Last week I gained 1.5 pounds.
This week you better hold on to your kite because I gained THREE pounds.
It’s this thing called Motherhood; I’m certain.
My legs and feet are so swollen from water retention that they HURT. I chase the kiddos, trying to get ahead of them in the marathon of play-dates and necessities.
If I walk by anything remotely edible, not nailed down, I find myself shoving it in my mouth. Probably because my dinner consists of whatever it is the kiddos didn’t want to eat on their plate. Trust me when I tell you, I’m not any more fond of green beans than they are.
Spring Break the kiddos awoke and discovered we have no internet. No phone. No TV.
There’s an outage somewhere, but our supplier wasn’t sure where and had no ETA on when it would be restored.
Ten hours later we’re baaaa aack.
I spent Spring Break refereeing children. Listening to:
“He touched me!”
“She looked at me!”
“Moooooooo oooom! Make him stop.”
“She made me!”
“I don’t know how glue got on the carpet.”
“He broke my favorite ________”
Back in school, my child wakes to tell me they have a Science Fair and he needs a project.
I yawn and say, “Okay, let’s think of something for your project. When is it due?”
He doesn’t stutter, not a bit, “Tomorrow.”
My daughter has soccer tonight and lets me know she volunteered to bring refreshments.
The dog is dragging her food bowl around the kitchen in an attempt to get someone to fill it.
The weather can’t make up its mind– Eighty degrees one day and rainy, dreary, fifty degrees the next.
I’m not sure if I have a cold, allergies or this is just utter exhaustion.
I’m ready to start over.
I’m dreaming of eight hours sleep, without interruption. I want a long, hot bubble bath; Eyes that don’t tire during a great book; back to back Prince songs–especially from the 1980s.
I’m ready to start over.
Come Monday; I’m gonna do it!