I got placed on the school harvest party committee.
An email went out to the moms involved and I was the only one not named Brianna.
The email talked about us planning a time to get together and brainstorm about games and craft ideas, but all I could do was blink at the screen and think,
“I’ve got a kid craft idea for my kids.
It’s called ‘eat the lunch that I pack you.”
In this season I am just treading water.
I’m turning in forms late, and forgetting Tessa doesn’t like mustard, and wearing the same pants three days in a row.
I’m skipping eyeliner, and googling seventh grade math.
I am doing the best that I can.
This year I was relieved when Paige announced she wanted to be an inflatable T-Rex for Halloween instead of the elaborate costumes I usually design, because
this year
I just can’t.
So I blinked at the screen with all those Briannas and still haven’t responded at all.
I’ll be at that harvest party.
I will cut things and help glue things and I will plate things up,
but my head is so far from a brainstorm right now, it feels like my last one was in black and white.
I want to be dressed in a fall scarf and cute boots as I head to the grocery for all the items for my meal plan full of recipes I found on a Pinterest.
I really do.
My fantasies smell like pumpkin spice.
But right now my reality is my old pilly shirt and two last-minute take-n-bakes being flung into the rear seat of my car.
My reality smells more like wet cat food.
I want cute fall photos of my girls at the pumpkin patch, but this year we haven’t had time, and frankly, every year I shudder at the thought of spending $100 to walk amongst gourds, and sit on piled hay and dried corn kernels.
This year I am tired.
I’m up late. I’m up early.
My skin just is what it is.
The other night I had just fallen into a deep sleep when suddenly my seven year old was hovered over my head asking for water.
In my still half-asleep stupor I reached into my nightstand and grabbed the only thing I had there.
The white-noise sound machine.
I pulled it onto my chest.
Now Justin was awake.
“Babe, she wants water.”
I could feel his judgy look even in the pitch black room.
“I know,” I can remember saying, still laying there clutching that machine, half-awake, half-asleep, all done for the day with doing things for people.
“What are you doing holding the sound machine?” he asked.
At this point I remember coming to a little more and realizing what I was doing was weird,
but rather than give in, and admit that I wasn’t doing the most logical thing,
I said the best thing I could think of,
still in my sleepy haze:
“I’m trying to show her that this isn’t water,”
and that kind of sums up my current life.
This is just a season.
A season where I don’t have everything that people want, and I’ve decided I’m OK with letting them see it.
Moms need breaks.
Moms need time.
Moms can’t always have or be the water.
I have to remind myself that those Pinterest pins and mustard scarves and golden-hour photos aren’t going anywhere.
They’re here every year, and my personal seasons will change, and I’ll be back to strutting in boots instead of just treading again.
Some years you have got your kale bean crock-pot soups all together,
and some years are just more Tostino’s pizza roll.
Right now it feels like everyone wants something from me;
But right now all I’ve got is a noisy sound machine that I’m holding to my chest trying to show that it isn’t water.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
