A Resignation Reversal

I called David at about 9:30 this morning.  I told him that I was resigning.  I asked if he wanted me to be done at end of the business day today, or if he’d prefer the traditional two weeks.

– I told him about the hate note I got from Elle (so proud of her writing skills!) on her slate because I didn’t let her have a snack.
– I told him about Cee throwing up down the (carpeted!) hallway because of her d-a-m-n weekly methotrexate shot.
– I told him about Cee staring blankly at some math problems she had no trouble with two weeks ago.
– I told him about Moe refusing to wear pants.  (We’re already those people in the neighborhood without everyone seeing Moe’s saggy diaper going thwap, thwap, thwap as he runs outside.)
– I told him about finding Bea surrounded by a million tiny bits of soggy paper from who knows what.
– I told him that I miss my last job.  You know, the one where no one peed on me.  And I was respected and appreciated.

I don’t remember what he said…there was something about needing me, blah, blah, blah. It doesn’t matter because I just wanted him to listen.  Which he did.  David is a brick.  I hung up the phone and resolved to get through the day as best I could.

Here’s how I survived.

1.  I let myself feel the feelings.  

I admitted that today was off to a rocky start.  I acknowledged that part of my problem was guilt.  I felt guilty for not being completely over-the-moon grateful at this particular moment about my vocation.  People in other occupations are allowed to have bad days.  How is what I do different?  A doctor dealing with an especially challenging case isn’t ever told, “This was your choice.  You chose this job.”  Why is mothering different?

2.  I faked it with my kids.  

Full disclosure:  first I yelled.  Then I felt awful and apologized.  Then we all went outside, and I watched them play.  I gave Cee kisses and told her how proud I was of what she’s learned so far this year.  I read stories.  I made jokes.  I talked to Elle about her chalk proclamations and told her I loved her.

3.  I took some time separate from the kids.

I put on The Fox and the Hound VHS (vintage!) and went through my bloglovin feed.  (Do you use bloglovin?  I love how I never miss a post from my favorite bloggers.)  This is NOT the same as wasting time looking through facebook or pinterest for me.  I don’t have a nearby community of people who openly share struggles.   Blogs are where I can laugh, cry, or fist bump other moms.  I came across this quote from a post called, “Making Peace with the Minimum,” that made me pause:

 

Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

 

I decided to embroider that on a pillow.  What I’m doing is good.  It is not perfect.  It’s good to feed and clothe and love my kids.  It is not perfect, but it is good.

And a Pinch of Zest ‘s recent post helped me realize I’m not alone in my failures and struggles as a mom to littles I love fiercely.  Somehow, knowing that there are others muddling through it  too makes everything seem more manageable.  I’m not the only one who can’t handle it beautifully 100% of the time.

4. I completed a task.

My brother has some largish rocks he doesn’t want, and he said we could have them if we dig them up!  Last year or so I went all The Nesting Place on the inside of my house, but the outside is lacking.  So, we took a fieldtrip to my brother’s house and I scored some cool rocks.

5.  I cho-co-lat-ed.

David came home with my BFF Lindt.  He apologized because he knows I hate it when he goes off budget.  By that time I had withdrawn my resignation, so I didn’t really need to renegotiate the terms of my contract, but I accepted the bonus any way.  Mmmm.  Melty goodness.

 

As I’m typing this, the kids are (sort of) down for the night.  Moe fell asleep on the chair.  The girls are in their room.  Bea is playing with blocks.  And I can see them for what they are: blessings beyond measure.  There are some parts of my old life that I miss, but I really am grateful that I was able to be there when Bea started clapping for the first time.  That I hear Moe talk about “efalants.”  That I can help Elle and Catherine master math and love books.

Whenever David and I are in crisis mode, the motto we come back to is, “This is a good life.”  We have faced what seem like insurmountable problems together, but by the grace of God we’ve made it through.  Today’s problems are no different.  They only  seem bigger because they’re closer.  Given some distance, the hall vomit of today will hardly be remembered.   It really is a good life, and that’s not just the chocolate talking.