I can’t relax in chaos. While Hayden looks relatively comfortable kicked back next to a pile of clean laundry with a cold beer and the remote, I would have an anxiety attack. Sitting there, next to something that should be done right now. I can relax after the garbage is out, the kitchen is clean, the toys are tidy, and the floors are vacuumed. It’s the most lame compulsion ever.
I HATE HATE HATE “drop by” guests. Not because I don’t love seeing family and friends, but because I am a ball of nerves with someone in my house and a sink full of dirty dishes. Hell, I hate when the UPS guy needs a signature because I’m not wearing a bra or lipstick and Harvey has a ketchup mustache. It’s so dumb. I know, no one actually cares. I’m aware.
And I’m working on it. I’m pretty sure it’s hereditary – that dangerous combination of nature and nurture – the hardest habit to break. But I’m trying to let it go. In the name of fun and sleep and mental health. I can’t do it all the time, but some days I have been able to surprise myself and…let a neighbor come over without first washing the sliding glass door. Baby steps. Baby steps to not breaking out the Murphy’s oil soap. Baby steps to not giving a fuck.
Mostly because, I can’t anymore. Like, I CAN’T. Those people who said I would find four kids to be as easy as three were clearly just trying to keep my spirits up. In my experience, four is incredibly hard…or maybe it’s just their ages. I can barely deal with the hormones of high-school, 4th grade soccer and before-school choir practice, a toddler who has adopted the alter-ego of Constantine… “the world’s most dangerous frog”…in order to justify bad behavior like locking our cat in a gulag (goo-yawg), and a 10-month-old who has the core strength of Rocky training for his fight with Ivan Drago.
So, I’m focusing on kids, finishing grad school, and play. And trying to care less about the things no one cares about but me anyway. We’ve been busy and having a good time. I can’t believe it’s been three weeks since I last posted anything… I’ve missed these little chestnuts. Here’s what we’ve been up to lately.
(But really, can we all agree to make play dough, not beds? Because if you do it too, I won’t feel so guilty. Don’t change out of your pajamas. Order pizza even though you just went grocery shopping. Consider lazy a compliment-worthy achievement.)