I need to make a form

I need to make a form.  It is a simple form. 

Once upon a time, before I had children, I worked a grown-up job.  With other grown-ups.  Not only did I create forms, I often created manuals, or training seminars, powerpoint presentations, budgets, grants.  I supervised others.  I attended business meetings.  I wore heels. 

And oh, I could think.  I had such free time to think.  What a luxury.  And if I had a problem, I called a team together for an assessment.

Now.  Now.  I just need to make a form.  A simple “check-out” form for a lending library.  Good grief.  It needs lines.  And a header that says “Lending Library.”  Yet the effort and brain power required to make said form seems overwhelming. 

Am I losing my edge?  What if I need to re-enter the workforce someday?  Will my brain return when I live again with the grown-ups? 

Because I’m not so sure.  These children, these children can bring me to the edge of insanity.  Consider yesterday.

Cedar wakes at 4am.  I bring her to my bed.  She takes her diaper off at some point and then pees in the bed.  We’re late for babywearing group, so I feed them a cereal bar and an apple in the car.  But first, Cedar poops right after I strap her in the carseat and start to back-out.  Go inside house.  Change diaper.  Return.  Begin to back-out and Norah shouts, “WAIT!!!!”  After jumping out of my skin, she begs for me to go inside the house and get her magna-doodle.  I grumble words about responsibility but secretly remember I’ve forgotten my ipod.  There is a podcast sermon about love I want to listen to.

We back out of the drive-way.  It is 9:30am.

At babywearing, Cedar picks a fight with Gretchen and with Ivey.  Norah gets mad because she didn’t get to talk to her “grown-up” friend who I have FINALLY figured out is Coral.  “You never let me see who I want to see and now I want to go see Nanoo (Laura).”  Inside the library, the girls read some books until finally we have to go and Cedar collapses in the floor screaming in resistance.  I hurriedly leave carrying the writhing child.  Once outside, Norah announces she needs to potty.  We go to the bathroom where Cedar tells me she has pooped.  Again.  I have to change her standing up in a stall.

It is noon.

I get home and leave the car running because Cedar is asleep.  I run inside and make Norah and myself some lunch.  I sit on the front steps so I can see Cedar.  Norah decides she wants my food.  I sigh.  I make myself more food.  Sit.  And Norah needs me to start her DVD.  I flip my lid a little.  Speak irrational words about why can’t you just try to do it yourself and then ask for help?  Mommy needs a break.  Just a little tiny break.  Norah tells me I need to eat some protein.

I’m trying, dear girl.  I’m trying.  It is 1:30.

Cedar wakes.  I feed her.  We go to the grocery store.  Minor antics.  No major meltdowns.   Hoorah!

A postpartum mama calls while I’m unloading groceries.  I put the frozen things away and then let the girls play in the yard while I talk.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cedar–naked–chasing a cat into the neighbor’s yard.  Where are her clothes?  I say good-bye to postpartum mama.  Collect my children.  Find Cedar’s clothes which are scattered under the apple tree. 

At some point, there are baths.  Not one for me, of course.  I also remember a rather large fight between the girls.  Involving yogurt throwing.  And it was after the bath.

For dinner, I decided on egg carton meals.

Scott gets home in time to put Norah to bed.  Cedar goes down easy.  This time.  So thankful for that mercy.

I treat myself to a gorgeous plate of cheese/crackers/cherries/cottage cheese/peaches/blueberries and a glass of riesling.  I deserve it.  Scott has a bowl of cereal.

Now.  Why can I not access the part of my brain required to make a simple form???!!!

I’m whining, I know.  These days are beautiful and fleeting.  But I certainly do not feel I’m getting smarter or even wiser.