Does your sanity hang low; can you tie it in a bow?

Haven’t posted in a while. Had some lovely days, had some hard days.

And today was just really freaking long.

Spouse was gone for five days a while ago. Couldn’t blog about that because all my stalkers would know I was home alone with the kids, which would mean 1)my 2am fears of bumps in the night would be heightened and I’d never go to bed and 2)I’d burn all my energy being nicer because I’m convinced some of my stalkers work part-time for Child Protective Services and are working to build a case against me.

As my father says, just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re *not* out to get me.

Anyway, it was hard to be a single parent. But not awful. We only had one of those dreaded nights when both kids were crying at the same time, at maximal volume, and nothing soothed them and they wouldn’t sleep and there were gloppy spills and major appliances breaking and plague and pestilence and identity theft. Otherwise the time while the biggest set of boy parts was away was deep-breath-and-chocolate hard but not debate-narcotics-and-google-self-help-books hard.

Thanksgiving was fine. Not the dream holiday I build it up to be but not nearly dysfunctional enough to even blip the humor radar.

The thing about Spouse’s absence and holidays and school days and weekend days and every stinking day is that I’m muddling through. It’s fine, I’m okay, everything’s middling…and that’s starting to drive me nuts. I don’t actually get anything impressive done. I don’t actually feel much meaning in the days. Highs, sure, because my baby is delicious. Lows, sure, because my baby doesn’t sleep and my preschooler is in a phase and I have no child care and my dreams are tied up tightly in the garage under so many other boxes that I don’t even have the time or energy to peek at my hopes and aspirations, let alone take them out and coo at them.

Shit is just marching on; I’m marking time.

Not really a problem, given the world’s problems, you know?

Tonight, after a decent day, each time one of the kids screamed at me it was like being hit with a sharpened rake. Painful and brutal and crushing and temporary and defeating. But also not rising seas or hulking deficits or torture or roadside bombs or amputation or malnourishment.

And I was all set to feel sorry for myself and pout and be depressed in ways that I’d just love to do, for once, since I don’t even get to shower or pee or cook something self-nurturing most days and would like to be selfish and eat from a bag and ignore everyone else on the planet for a while (thanks, Heifer International catalog for making that pretty much impossible).

But I couldn’t crack a pout after a friend sent this link.

Now *that* is why I read blogs. Because it’s good to remember that “baby less dangerous”.

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19 thoughts on “Does your sanity hang low; can you tie it in a bow?

  1. Yo Dawg, I heard u like alot, so I put a lot in your Alot, so u can blog while u blog.

    I’m marking time too. Years gone. So, hey, we’re muddling together.

  2. Oh, I hear you. You speaka my language. I really enjoy your blog. Thank you for it. Sorry for the short sharp sentences. I’m so friggin tired.

  3. Yep, my sanity hangs about as low as my box of dreams, the one hidden under Alot of other boxes containing Alot of remiders of a life once lived and once planned and suddenly discarded thanks to Alot of nappies, giggles, vomit, babbling, sleeplessness, craft, spills, chaos and drudgery. In short, I hear you, Alot! And thanks for the link, although that baby looked a little dangerous to me… is that just my state of mind?

  4. Alot better than Michael Phelps made me laugh so hard. I love Alot! Thanks for brightening my morning.

    And dude, you are seriously doing GOOD. You have a new baby and a peevish preschooler and a spouse who is away and you aren’t sticking your head in the oven? That’s doing GOOD. You also aren’t collecting rocks and planning for a swim. I am wicked proud.

  5. Oh, I too feel like I am just muddling through alot. And you describe alot exactly the way the muddling feels to me. Thanks for that. Hard to see the post-muddle from the mid-muddle, but it’s got to be there. I liked this post a lot (not letting Alot take credit for this one).

  6. First off, thank you for the link. It made my moment. As for the muddling through, I think it’s all part of being a parent. I have to say, you’re uncharacteristically balanced for being in the midst of drudgery. Kudos to you for that. I was much more of a drama queen, finding corners to sob in when it got too much, thinking that nobody in the world could possibly understand what I was going through. I’m slowly making my way out and I can say, with much relief, it does get easier. Keep that important tidbit lurking about. You will get back to you one day.

  7. i know where those damned boxes are, nappy. and i swear if i could find them, i’d pry them open and have at it. and once they’re opened, oh the wrath! MWAHAHAHAH! keep the dream alive, yo!

  8. Wow. That link was worth every crummy thing that happened today, including that guy with the peeing Calvin truck decal cutting me off.

    I get the marking-time thing too, all the time. May I recommend severely lowering your standards? When things like “grow fingernails” and “exchange oxygen for carbon dioxide” are on your to-do list, it’s easier to feel that you’ve accomplished things.

  9. Oh my goodness! Thank you for sharing this. I hate it when people for about basic third grade grammar! The entire post was a hoot!

    As for your feeling as though you are marking time, I hear you. There are days, like yesterday, when success is measured by surviving the next task, which usually involves shlepping three whiny children from Point A to Point B in a very short window of time with maximum traffic.

    My box of dreams is hiding too. And I think that might be a good thing. Because I am too tired to open it.

  10. Awwww, Nap. I get it. Have been there. But I echo what TKW said. You make me proud. Wait, I don’t know why I should get to be proud, really, since you’re the one doing all the work.

    But I am. Of you. Because five days of single parenting = freakout city. For me. Not for you. You handled it like a champ.

    Which is why I’m proud of you.

  11. ps: Even worse than “alot”? “Alotta.” As in, “I got alotta stuff to do.”

    Together with the “I got,” it’s nails-on-chalkboard-sound time!

  12. jc, my inferiority complex says my muddle pales in comparison to your muddle. I’m honored by your slumming, though. Here’s your sticker.

    Kim, I hear ya.

    Nadine, I snorted when I read that. Come to think of it, the baby *does* look more dangerous than the Alot.

    Kitch, I appreciate the twin literary suicide references. Wow, Woolf and Plath in one comment. Color me impressed.

    Macondo, I do hope there’s a post-muddle. After the tweedle beetle puddle muddle.

    MacDougal, it’s the one tidbit I find harder to believe than consubstantiation, about which I have zero faith. But I’ll try to tuck it into a corner and give you credit if it ever comes true.

    j, you’re a model citizen. I’ll try.

    Falling, I almost peed myself when I read that. I am, no joke, going over to vistaprint to have notepads made up. I’ll post the list at a later date, and will give you credit for “exchanging oxygen for carbon dioxide.” AWESOME. I did that today. With the Alot.

    Oh, Maria, the drugery. I’d forgotten about the “same shit different day” drugery. Ugh. Meh. Blerg.

    The “got” is worse than the “alotta,” isn’t it. I feel just terrible about the crackers you now got rather than have. But I explained my lack of “e”s, right? Maybe the Alotta is the female version of the Alot. Like Bugs Bunny had that robot female rabbit?

  13. Hubby and I have lived in limbo land for the last four years whilst I’ve looked for a job, intermittently taught, raised kids, and searched my soul for meaning. But mainly, I’m on “meh” pretty much all the time. It’s a problem, because I’m very unhappy with “meh” and know that there are a lot of circumstances in my life that I’d like to change, and really need to change, if I’m going to have even a little chance at being … not even happy… just not “meh.”

    Some I love dearly told me recently that I SHOULD be happy, said that there are people out there with real problems and that I should be grateful for good health, a nice husband, and healthy kids. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. But listen up, love, it ain’t all roses and balloons just because you’re not dying of cancer at age 34. Know what I mean? To say that I don’t have any “real” problems just serves to invalidate my feelings. So f that person.

    Anyway – I’m really, really right there with you. I guess that’s why I’m persisting with my novel, even though a bunch of “real” writers say that maybe I should give it a rest for a while. They don’t get it. It’s the ONLY thing that makes me even close to a shadow of happy.

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