The Pieces
Some days all I do is pick up the pieces.
Literally, metaphorically.
And I feel like I'm failing in pretty much every way that counts.
Some days I feel like I'm not present. I'm here in body, but for my kids I'm still not available.
There's so much of me else-where that I can't keep myself here in the now. And I miss things. I just fade through the days until suddenly they're sleeping and I'm putting them in their beds and realize I didn't even have one real moment with them.
And I feel like a horrible mother. I rushed them past me so I could do my important things {don't get me wrong, paying bills is essential but bills will come and go and my children shouldn't age unnoticed}.
I'm spread thin. I'm the P, B and J sandwich that you take a bite of and get nothing but peanut butter that sticks to the roof of your mouth. A horrible disappointment for anyone looking for a bit of sweet with the bland.
I worry that the best face my children see are the ones of the people who take my children while I'm away. All they want is me and some days, some days I feel like it's the only thing I can't give them.
I used to be present. I used to be available and open to nothing but adventures. Now I'm stuck in front of a computer working out budgets and bills and writing checks and checking balances. Or I'm on the phone.
It's been a rough couple months for me and I'm wearing it noticeably.
They cling and I push, hoping to gain some kind of perspective or peace.
So after being home hours I am stuck here at 12:43 am after scraping them up off my bed and the couch feeling like I have failed another day.
I'm so good at schedules. At paperwork. At planning. I was good at the bed time routine, the brushing the teeth, the bath, the pajama retrieval, the bedtime stories and then the songs {the same songs every night, their favorites}. And now I'm scraping them off of different surfaces that they've just fallen asleep on waiting around for me to be finished.
I'm sick and tired of myself. I need a timer. I need to remind myself that daylight is theirs.
Some days all I do is pick up the pieces, but it's high time I started putting them back together.
Literally, metaphorically.
And I feel like I'm failing in pretty much every way that counts.
Some days I feel like I'm not present. I'm here in body, but for my kids I'm still not available.
There's so much of me else-where that I can't keep myself here in the now. And I miss things. I just fade through the days until suddenly they're sleeping and I'm putting them in their beds and realize I didn't even have one real moment with them.
And I feel like a horrible mother. I rushed them past me so I could do my important things {don't get me wrong, paying bills is essential but bills will come and go and my children shouldn't age unnoticed}.
I'm spread thin. I'm the P, B and J sandwich that you take a bite of and get nothing but peanut butter that sticks to the roof of your mouth. A horrible disappointment for anyone looking for a bit of sweet with the bland.
I worry that the best face my children see are the ones of the people who take my children while I'm away. All they want is me and some days, some days I feel like it's the only thing I can't give them.
I used to be present. I used to be available and open to nothing but adventures. Now I'm stuck in front of a computer working out budgets and bills and writing checks and checking balances. Or I'm on the phone.
It's been a rough couple months for me and I'm wearing it noticeably.
They cling and I push, hoping to gain some kind of perspective or peace.
So after being home hours I am stuck here at 12:43 am after scraping them up off my bed and the couch feeling like I have failed another day.
I'm so good at schedules. At paperwork. At planning. I was good at the bed time routine, the brushing the teeth, the bath, the pajama retrieval, the bedtime stories and then the songs {the same songs every night, their favorites}. And now I'm scraping them off of different surfaces that they've just fallen asleep on waiting around for me to be finished.
I'm sick and tired of myself. I need a timer. I need to remind myself that daylight is theirs.
Some days all I do is pick up the pieces, but it's high time I started putting them back together.
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