Oh, good gawd I’m in a mood.
My children are adorable. And wakeful and needy and hungry and whiny and male, and I just don’t care anymore. I don’t care if they eat complete meals. I don’t care if we remember to do our nightly meetings and our family meditation and our dinnertime highlights and lowlights conversation and our homework and our vitamins and a bath.
I don’t give a flying fig newton right now.
I got myself elected Preschool Board Vice President, and I’m going to warn you, if you don’t want to see behind the scenes of a 200-person cooperative, do not run for elected school board. Good heavens there’s some fraught interpersonal fiascos and some seriously tedious human resources stuff and some exciting opportunities that take seventeen hours of follow-up going on up in there. It’s possible for that part-time, unpaid job to be a bit more work, but I’m not sure I want to complain yet about my own insanity for signing up, since it’s only September.
And I don’t give a flaming foxtail right now.
Now that both boys are in school, I have a whopping two hours to myself, two days a week. Yeehaw, y’all. Don’t even know what to do with myself for two whole hours twice a week. Except maybe the six trillion items on my list that have been half done since my darling eldest was born seven-and-a-half freaking years ago. So I have plenty to do and four hours to do it in…and you know what?
I don’t give a frisky firefighter right now.
The process to schedule a windshield replacement for my car took half an hour, during which my preschooler tried to assassinate me. The four-HOUR window I chose for this morning was, of course, blown off by the windshield-replacement-expert-person, who rescheduled with me moments before the window expired. He offered me an hour slot smackdab in the middle of my two-hour freedom window.
I don’t care. Everybody waits for repair people. Everybody complains about the waste of time. Everybody is busy, everybody is exhausted, and everybody is just trying to get by.
So I don’t care. I’m going to pour this bowl of broken tortilla chip pieces, smother it in salsa, and eat it with a spoon. Because I just don’t see how I can, in fifteen minutes, write a book, read a book, do yoga, take a shower, set up a second-grade science project, email people for babysitter references, drive to the armorer, write get well cards, mop the floors, watch a movie, start a strategy project, update my resume, look for jobs, post useless crap on craigslist, or write a blog post.
So I’m not going to. Fuckit. I don’t care. I’m going to sit very still for one whole minute and see what it feels like.
…
…
…
Crap. I forgot to mow the lawn and call to reschedule a doctor’s appointment. Again. Gotta go.
NaptimeWriting 
I give you a fuckit and raise you a flaming fox tail. ((you))
I see your flaming foxtail and raise you a flying fig newton.
Xoxo
oh i knw the pain and pleasure kids are.mine both girls are trying to kill me of exhaustion.
When I was trying to decide whether to have children, my gynecologist said, “My wife and I have four children and none of them is bringing us joy right now. Don’t listen to people who say children are wonderful. They are the best thing that will ever happen to you and the worst thing that will ever happen to you, short of death.”
Severe. But closer to true than anyone else had been.
its a wonder u get time to write…u must be a supermom..
Oh my love. This. This is so real. Don’t care. Not about everything. It’s impossible. And so not worth it.
Oh, Jen, I was thinking of you this week. It’s all so impossible. And so not worth it. Tonight all the food was healthful but almost all raw. And prepared sloppily. Because geez, already. Spinach, raspberries, scrambled eggs, sprouted multigrain bread. And a dollop of fuckit.
That might possibly be the BEST and most honest blog title EVER.
Honest is my flaw and my specialty. Thanks for stopping by!
I hope things have taken a turn for the better, but thank you for making me feel less alone. Nothing will eat up your precious free time like a car/house/doctor appointment. Fuckit.
Honest to Cheeses, the whole waiting for appointments then having them cancelled then rescheduling later, when you specifically didn’t schedule for a darned good reason…maddening.
Yes, the fuckits have subsided. A new client project, renewed need to write my butt off, friend with real problems, and adorable freaking lovebug kids all changed my tune.
I have spare chocolate, just in case.