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.
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.