What happened to me?

When I had just one kid I got so much more done. I'd put her to bed and then get started on the next remodeling project. Now there is so much to do and so little getting done. I know how to break a task into parts so it isn't overwhelming, yet I instead of doing one bit at a time I am doing nothing. Nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing to further my projects, such as painting the bathroom. Instead I am doing household things or playing with the kids or wasting time on the computer. I could take a hiatus from the internet (but not email, because I am responsible for certain tasks and also email is sometimes my lifeline to the outside world). I have done this before, but I don't think I got more done. And then I end up feeling resentful, like a child who's told she can't play until she does her chores, and I still don't end up accomplishing much.

Why? That is what I am trying to figure out. Why not? Certainly I am more tired with two kids. I think that is legitimately part of it. But I also seem to care less in general. I don't care about my appearance as much as a used to. I haven't been to the gym in 2.5 years (the same time since my youngest was born). I don't care as much about the state of my house, either. Although that sometimes backfires and I become very stressed out by the disorder. My house is never that bad, but it certainly is not what it used to be.

So why do I care less? Is there something I care more about that is taking over? My kids, of course. But it seems like I should be able to do both. Not do it all, but do more than I am currently doing. Then I worry, what if my lack of motivation is related to depression? That worries me. I don't know the answer to any of these questions but, though I try to push it out of my mind and just get through the day, the what ifs worry me.

For better or worse

I am very discouraged and unmotivated right now and feel like I could cry. There is nothing major wrong, but life is disorganized and I don't see it getting more organized anytime soon. I have so much to do but I am lacking both time and energy. Whatever energy I had a month ago when I was getting a lot accomplished outside is GONE. So I am searching for inspiration, but halfheartedly. I really would just like to sleep. Yet I keep staying up late working on the computer (some on valid projects, some just wasting time). It goes back to the problem of knowing what I need to do, yet still not doing it.

So anyway, I am essentially feeling sorry for myself today. Then I find out about a friend with a sick child and remember problems other people are dealing with and feel like I should be happy things are not worse. But you know what? I am realizing that telling yourself things could be worse doesn't always make things better. At least, it is not making me feel better today. It just makes me feel selfish and whiny for being sorry for my small problems, not grateful I don't have bigger problems.

How to fix this? I don't know, but I damn well better figure it out soon.

Just breathe

Today my baby girl had her first day of kindergarten. Her first day of school (not counting the 3 years of preschool, mind you). The first day of the rest of her life. Or at least her life for the next 13 years. She was excited and I knew she would do well. I wasn't sure if I would do well, however.

When we got to school I could see cars parked all the way out to the street, in the grass and pretty much everywhere I looked. Fortunately, at the time we got there cars were beginning to leave and we were able to find a spot right away. Unfortunately, right at that time began a total downpour. I happened to have an umbrella in the trunk for Hayden to hold and the stroller has a sunshade and I had a hooded jacket in the car, so we made it inside fairly dry, including the card Hayden made (all on her own this morning) for her teacher and the flowers I'd picked the night before. I hadn't realized how long and slow the line of cars to drop off kids would be, though I figured there would be more cars in the parking lot than usual, so we really had to hurry in to make it on time. We were so rushed I didn't have time to think, much less cry when I dropped her off. I was sure I'd be a wreck so this surprised me. Maybe it is good we were running late!

The next couple hours went by fairly fast, having coffee with friends and then puttering around the house while I waited for it to be time to walk down the street to wait for Hayden. The bus was due to arrive at 12:40 so we left at 12:30, just to be safe. Bryce and I waited near the end of the street, me keeping my eye out for the big yellow bus to turn the corner below. He occupied himself throwing rocks and leaves and pine cones into the bushes in the empty lot across the street. I occupied myself by panicking a tiny bit more with each passing minute. I thought, oh no. What if there is a problem and the school called me but I didn't get the message because we were already outside? I also was sure if I ran back (hauling 31.5 pounds of toddler) to grab my cell phone that the bus would come at that exact moment and we'd miss it. So we waited. Finally about 10 minutes late the bus pulled up. I gave the bus driver the flowers I'd picked for her and almost cried out of sheer relief. I was SO GLAD to see my best girl coming down the bus stairs. She was happy, had enjoyed school and the bus ride, and we walked home holding hands.

Later on, after Hayden was seated and having lunch I looked at her cute little self sitting there eating, completely unaware of the momentous step she had just taken, and I was overcome with emotion. I went up behind her to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek and tell her again how glad I was to have her home. As I was leaning in, I let out a huge breath of air. It was like I had forgotten to breathe until that very moment. I keep taking deep breaths and reminding myself that we survived, did quite well even. I just need to remember to breathe.

All or nothing

I almost set myself up to fail. Or I do nothing because the task at hand overwhelms me. I know how to set a goal, take a big project and break it up into smaller, more manageable tasks. But it is still my instinct to try and do everything at once. Right now a big goal for me is to get back into shape. This means eating less, drinking more water, walking and getting more sleep. I could start with any one of those things. But instead I try to diet, drink extra water, and workout all at the same time. And I get discouraged because it is hard to change so many habits at once and I back slide. Even though I know I am more likely to have success if I go slowly, I try to speed up the process. Why? WHY?? It frustrates me yet I haven't figured out a way around myself.

So it occurs to me the biggest obstacle to progress is not my lack of time, my excess of chores, cupcakes, or anything else I could blame. It is me. Damn.

Whatever happened?

The other day, an old friend brought back memories of my childhood. I was never very athletic, but I was really into bar routines on the playground. I could do all sorts of tricks. The backs of my knees were always bruised and my hands were so calloused I wondered if they'd ever be smooth again. Sometimes we'd make up routines to do side-by-side on the big bar, but I was a little late to this because I couldn't do cherry drops, or the more risky death drop, as soon as my friends could. But there was usually someone to help me do a lemon drop (a cherry drop where someone holds your hands as you land) and my more talented friends inspired me to learn to do it on my own. I remember practicing and practicing in my own backyard, until it was dark outside. It took a lot of guts to let go, to unhook my knees and fly through the air to land on my feet. There were plenty of times I didn't land on my feet, as I recall! But I kept trying. I remember at first I didn't quite get both legs off at the same time, but I was able to land properly. And before long I could do the perfect cherry drop--hang by your knees, swing 1, 2, 3, dismount. I can't remember if I did death drops or not. I am cautious by nature and those are scarier. I am sure I tried, but I think I stuck to cherry drops most of the time.

A few times in adulthood I have climbed onto the bar to see if I could still do any tricks. But now that I am older and out of practice, it hurts! My hip bones painfully grate the bar, the backs of my knees burn and my hands no longer have the protective callouses that allowed me to swing and twirl for hours. And I don't have the same strength I used to. It's hard just to jump up! I was trying to think what, if anything, I could teach my daughter. I don't think I would be brave enough to try a cherry drop, sure I'd land on my face or break something. But why not? What happened to the little girl that tried and tried, bruises and all, until she got it right? Is she still inside of me somewhere? I don't know for sure, but I am afraid she is gone. I hope to see her again--instead through my own daughter's strength, my son's perseverance. Maybe she isn't gone so much as passed on to my children. We all need to have courage and determination, but my kids will need it more in the coming years than me. I hope I can inspire them to be brave like I once was. Like I still can be, when I need to.