Taskmaster

Sometimes I just don't have the energy to be the taskmaster. You know, the one who makes sure everyone takes their allergy meds, signs permission slips, washes uniforms in time for class twice a week. The one who schedules doctor's appointments, double checks homework, ensures developmental milestones are being reached appropriately. Did you brush your teeth? Really? Are you wearing underwear? Here are your pink 4x6, NOT 3x5, index cards. Here is your solid brown outfit for the school play, I picked it up before work because I have to get the car inspected after work. I know, I know, such is life. It's called being an adult. Adulting all over the place. So. Much. Adulting. I am well aware that I am fortunate to have a beautiful home, amazing children and an incredible husband. Don't think I don't appreciate it- I do. I appreciate the fuck out of it. I thank God every day for this beautiful, chaotic adventure. This messy life of scraped knees and band aids, of hurt feelings and he-said-she-said. I feel gratitude deep in my soul and I know that I am blessed. I wouldn't trade it for the world. But I can be grateful and still be tired. I can be thankful for something and still struggle with its complexities. Usually I thrive on the organization and planning and scheduling. I can organize a PTA fundraiser and schedule a summer's worth of camps while baking a cool tie dyed cake I found on Pinterest. But damn, a woman can get worn down with being cruise director all the time. Think its time to kick back with a delicious 2011 Shiraz and some goldfish crackers and take a break.

 

Richmond, VA