The Endless Wait

I kind of feel like all I do is WAIT. I wait on Brooklyn to finish her chocolate milk so I can brush her teeth... I wait on Brighton to finish nursing so I can get back to vacuuming. I wait ALL DAY for Starling to get home so he can distract Brooklyn for just a FEW minutes so that MAYBE I can finish doing whatever project I have been attempting to complete ALL day to no avail. BUT... something else seems to always happen that keeps me from completing ANYTHING. I have HALF a load of laundry folded, HALF the dishes in the dishwasher put away, a couple of rooms vacuumed... the BATHTUB washed but still haven't made it to cleaning the toilet... One kid bathed... one kid going to bed with no bath...

So that's where I was last night... a bundle of nerves. I was PU-RETTY sure I was about to go crazy, a term I don't take lightly. I'd gone on a cleaning RAMPAGE and emptied EVERYTHING out of the laundry room. I organized all of MY junk and PILED all of Starling's stuff in the den for him to sort and HOPEFULLY put TONS of it in the garage sale pile. (For example... we had THREE dust-busters in the laundry room. I didn't even know we had ONE dust buster. Who the heck needs THREE?) Cleaning makes me ornery. The more I clean, the more I get mad at Starling. Every time I pick up a dirty sock, move a motorcycle helmet, collect a pile of screws, rinse an oily rag...it takes a little notch out of my sanity. And when I see the summation of Starling's collection all in a pile...my nerves kind of go berserk.

Then of course there is BROOKLYN. She's tidy enough... its her CONSTANT need of attention that makes me want to bury my head in the toilet and slam it with the porcelain lid. Repeatedly. She contracted some little virus that has not impaired her energy WHAT-SO-EVER, but has put us under house arrest. NOT a good combination for the most SANE woman on earth. For the last week I have been trapped with my little ANGEL, left to be her SOLE source of entertainment since I didn't want to spread the illness to her friends that would NORMALLY frolic with her. I've eaten Mardi Gras beads "bu-sketti and beat balls" that Brooklyn cooked for me in her kitchen until my stomach popped, read Care Bear books until my eyes crossed, played "scare daddy" until my throat got raw, fed her spagetti o's and chocolate milk until my arm went limp, listened to Diego's theme song until my ear drums busted, built stars out of Popsicle sticks until my fingers grew stiff, and WAS she TIRED? NO!! BUT I WAS! AM. I look like a strung out junkie and have the munchies like one, too.

So when Starling FINALLY got home at 10:30, I met him at the door with my gym bag and practically RAN from my house. Brooklyn was screaming, "NO, MOMMY! Don't leave us! I want you to go get in the night-night RIGHT NOW!" All I could think was, 'WHY doesn't the gym have a punching bag? I really just want to HIT something.' Well, I walked into the gym and headed straight for the weights. I was sweating in minutes and my nerves were beginning to settle. I took a book to read for the two minutes of rest time between each set. I was JUST starting to RELAX and BREATH when some dude asked about my hat.

"Is that you or you're just wearing that?" I LOVE to talk. You KNOW I do. But when I go to the GYM, I go to ZONE into work-out mode and OUT of dealing with PEOPLE mode. I had to think a minute about what HAT I was wearing. (I don't exactly dress to impress when I head to the gym. I grab and go). A Philmont hat. "I worked there one summer." I went back to my book.

"I've been there. I was boyscout... eagle scout... all that stuff." I looked up again. "Cool."

"Are you from around here? You're pretty young, but I think I know you." My nerves started twitching AGAIN. "Yeah. My HUSBAND and I live in Oak Grove. We just had our second baby and I'm trying to get back in shape." Instead of being like- 'Oh. She's married. WITH two kids. Never mind.' But I shouldn't have flattered myself by thinking he was trying to hit on me. He wasn't. He was like, "Wow you just had a kid!? Well let me give you some work-out tips that will get the permanent POOCH to go away!" I went to a DIFFERENT weight area. The dude followed.

The guy talked to me for over an HOUR. Super nice. Good info. I can't count reps AND pay attention to someone talking. I didn't even FINISH my workout. To my knowledge, chatterbox never even STARTED his workout. At MIDNIGHT I finally decided the only way I was going to WORK OUT was to go back LATER. Starling was texting me that Brighton was awake anyway. When I announced I was LEAVING, the dude gave me a summary of our one hour conversation, reminding me of ALL the tips and tricks I needed to know in life. THEN, before I was even gone, he'd made his way to a group of men that were working out. They gave me the look of death. I threw a grin and a wave and said, under my breath, 'Better YA'LL than ME.'

Needless to say, I REEEEEALLY wanted to hit something when I left the gym. But instead I tried to go to bed. Starling was holding Brighton while watching t.v. and Brooklyn was passed out on my side of the bed. I fed Brighton, put him in his crib, and crawled to my bed exhausted. I lifted Brooklyn to put her in HER bed and her panties were wet. I glared at Starling. "Seriously? You didn't make her potty before she went to bed?" He shrugged, "She fell asleep." Yeah. AFTER drinking two GALLONS of chocolate milk. "And you didn't think to put a DIAPER on her?" He didn't bother answering the rhetorical answer. "UGH!!!" I had JUST put clean sheets on the bed before I left to work out. I cleaned up Brooklyn, put a diaper on her, plopped her in HER bed and when I went back to MY BED... was it CLEANED? NOPE. Starling was snoring. EEERRR! So I cleaned the bed and slept on the couch, because I was #1 NOT sleeping on a wet spot and #2 was PISSED. Not at anyone in particular. Just at my life in that moment.

And, despite the fact that I hadn't gone to bed until after 1:30 in the morning, after I fed Brighton at 6:30, I went BACK to the gym to finish my work out. And that was smart. I did crunches until my eyes were glazing over from lack of sleep, did the rest of the tummy trauma, and once I was SO exhausted that I questioned my ability to DRIVE home and ONLY then, I left. I slumped into my house, threw in the LAST bit of laundry into the washer, and flopped into my bed. I woke up with my kiddos in a MUCH more child-friendly mood.