The Evening Ice Princess - Although "Princess" is not the word to best describe myself in the evenings.

I know that I must not be alone on the dark journey that we call "afternoon/evening".  I know there are others out there who turn into something else when late afternoon hits. I'm giving myself credit by referring to myself as an "Ice Princess".  A name more fitting would be "Demon of Darkness" or plain old "Crabby Bitch".

When is that precise moment when my patience becomes like a bald tire whose metal is exposed for all to see?  When every noise seems amplified and hard to tolerate.  When the tiredness sets in.  The mascara starts to accumulate under your bottom lashes no matter how many times you wipe it with your finger.  Your smile fades.  You shake your head while letting out deep sighs regarding just about anything.  The muscles in your face are tight.  You try to massage them but, it only pisses you off further that you are wound tightly enough to have to try to massage your own face!  You look and feel like crap. You are rolling your eyes and you're not even sure why, but you don't even care anyway.

The mother in me has grown tired, no, SICK of hearing her own voice.  Every repetitive word that passes through my lips is making me wince.  I can't stand to hear my own voice any longer!  I don't even know what I am saying anymore.  It mimics the "most annoying sound in the world" from the movie, Dumb and Dumber.  Go on, imagine it in your head.  Eeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaa!  Each annoying word digs deeper and deeper into my soul, puncturing that whimsical outer layer and leaving rust marks. 

I then go through the whole day being productive and happy about it.  I did countless loads of laundry, washed dishes, cooked, swept, talked with my little guy, made phone calls, dealt with unexpected "things" that came up, appointments, what have you.  I am fine with all that.  It seems that I can do quite a bit during what I consider my work hours, I hardly sit through out the day.  My work hours are from whenever I wake (5am-6am) until late afternoon.  I can do housework, take care of the kids, prepare meals, run errands, clean up dog shit, wipe up kid pee, sort mail, pay bills, etc.  I am not bitter about a single one but, come afternoon, I am bitter about most everything.  How dare they drink out of my cup!  Can't I have anything of my own?!  How dare someone leave their stuff on the floor, I'm not a maid!  How dare someone update their Facebook status in such a moronic fashion, when I don't have the patience to ignore it without becoming irritated.  Another selfie? Bite me! A bestie selfie?  Shove it! Bragging about dumb shit that nobody cares about?  Get a life girlfriend!  Then I become annoyed with myself that I am even browsing Facebook in the first place.  Husband comes home and sits on couch followed by tossing dirty socks on to the family room floor?!  Not going to fly.

I am not one of those women that become off duty when dad gets home.  I am still their mother and I and I am still running a house and I have things to do, and some of those things I just do better than him so I'd rather do them myself.  I am lucky to have a husband who helps.  He comes home after working all day and he is a parent.  He helps me give them attention, he helps me yell at them, he helps me love them.

It is as if at the stroke of 4pm, I go from relaxed, productive, singing, smiling, smooching mama, to grouchy, tired, bitter, and resentful.  Not to worry, the singing fun lady comes back by the next morning.  She is up with the sun.  We literally sing and dance on our drive to school every morning.  We have our mornings down to a science, we have great timing and we enjoy each other.

Maybe I need the evening to be more structured like the mornings?  No, I'm too tired by then for structure.  I think I am so burnt out by the afternoon that I try to just wing it and actually relax, but it never turns out right.  Why would I think I could relax when all of the kids are here compared to during the day when only one is home?  They are loud.  They argue passionately or they get along at a high decibel of sound.  I love them, every loud, chaotic ounce of them.  They are my little turds and they both drive me crazy and melt my heart within seconds.

I've tried afternoon coffee.  I've tried meditating (seriously, have you tried meditating with the background noise of "I had that first Logan!  You're a liar Dominique! Andrew don't touch that! Don't yew at me Wogan! I not yittle! Mom! Mooooom!!" 

Namaste?  Not really.

So, I have made a choice.  I will embrace the Demon of Darkness.  I will sip tea, (or coffee with a splash of Bailey's) and let out long sighs while shaking my head.  I will yell when the need arises, and then I will kiss there heads.  I will recline my chair and pretend there is no work to do.  I will hate my own voice because I know I will be happy with it in the morning.  I will laugh at how my children belong on a professional debate team.  I will remind myself that I am tired and they are wired.  I will think about how there must be some sexy qualities to a "Demon of Darkness".  I will stretch and I will take deep breaths.  I will find new movies on Netflix and I will dole out new chores.  I will win the light of the evening before they are grown, well, maybe.  I will try.  I will remember that I am not alone.

Please!  Share some of your Demon of Darkness moments with me.  I am sure there is much comic relief to had. Let's share the laughs.

Messy Me -My Messy Beautiful

I was initially writing this essay for the My Messy Beautiful project, which you can see at www.momastery.com/carry-on-warrior which would be one of many other blog posts by many bloggers about THEIR Messy Beautiful on Glennon Melton's blog. Unfortunately, life got a little messy and I missed the deadline! 

Here is a sample of MY Messy Beautiful.

I am a mess.  It doesn't always feel beautiful, but when I remember to be aware of myself, I can see the beauty in all messes.  I've experienced fearful messes, like being told I won't be able to have children.  I've experienced painful messes, like losing my father.  I've experienced joyous messes, like having babies.  I've experienced legal messes, like custody battles for my step children.  I've been through emotional messes, when your mind digs through your past mistakes in order to move forward.  The mess of depression.  The mess of being overwhelmed. The mess of worry and doubt. The mess of letting go.  The mess of disappointment. The mess of asking for help. The mess of taking charge.  The mess of loving. The mess of empathy. The mess of losing yourself in grief and in parenthood all at the same time and fighting to find yourself, only to find that you will never be the same.

Then there are the day to day messes.  Do I yell at my kids too much?  Are my kids too attached to me?  Should I have written this damn book by now?  Should I go back to work? I waited too long to eat and now I'm grouchy!

When will I be done with this this hip surgery recovery? Bills! Those overwhelming times in motherhood when you feel like you suck. Forcing myself to slow down, then beating myself up for not being as determined as I once was. Catching up all the laundry and then watching it pile up out of hand again.  Enjoying that euphoric feeling when everything is in its place and life feels organized, only to be reminded that life doesn't work that way. 

Life is a collage of messes.   I seem to be better organized when I have many things to organize.  When I took as much as I could off of my plate, I easily forgot things, misplaced things, constantly worried that I was forgetting something important (and sometimes I was).  Life got a little too clean.  I needed messes so that I could organize them and direct them.  Keep them coming!  These messes are life, and you carry on. You carry on with your armful of messes dragging behind you.

I am naturally a worrier.  I've always worried about things, even as a child.  I worried about my parents, worried about my little sister and brother.  I worry about decisions, money, friends, people's feelings.  My teeth are mostly smooth from grinding them in worry, while sleeping and awake.  I worry about messes.  I worry about writing this essay.  I have made a conscious effort to worry less.  The contradiction within myself is a mess.  This is my life.  These messes, big and small have made me who I am and I love myself.

Not allowing the messes to blur my happiness can be a mess in itself! Take pride in your messes and the warrior inside you that cleans them up! I've found that as long as I remember to stop and enjoy the mess, enjoy what I take from the mess, and capture the moment that the mess clears, the sun shining right after a rain, the blur begins to focus and everything feels whole. That is what matters. Being whole, being all inclusive, love, worry, happiness, and messes, this is the good stuff.