The Mess

Okay, so I know I still have write Abe’s Month 13 blog, but I haven’t really been in the right frame of mind. I want to be able to lightheartedly capture how he is telling us “no, no, no” while wagging his finger at us, and pouring dirt over his head, without coming off as the angry, tired mommy that I am. He deserves to have lightheartedness, after all.

This blog (the one you are reading) is a long time coming. It all started with the twitch and now after a car-less week with a $900 price tag, it is ending with this -- the Mommy Mess rant.

I know that one of the cardinal rules as a writer is “know your audience.” And, to my dismay I would say that about one percent of my audience are young mothers. Maybe even less. So, the 99 percent of you reading this (while you may have been mothers in the past) may not really understand it and think that I am a crazy psycho hose beast. For this, I am sorry.

This week, I lost my keys. Actually, I didn’t lose my keys. I knew exactly where they were. They were in my cubicle at work. “How did you drive to work?” you ask. Well, I didn’t have a car this week. Our car, the trusty, newly paid off, Toyota Solara broke down on a very busy road on Jake’s trip home from wor last Friday. Not having a cell phone, but being very smart about carrying change with him at all time, he found the last pay phone left in Indianapolis and called a tow truck. Long story short – the car needed fixing. Apparently, it took a week and $900. So, every morning the family would wake up at 6 a.m., get ready for work, school, and daycare and head off in the dark while listening to Howard Stern on Sirius.

One morning as I was gathering up my things to get ready to go, I realized I couldn’t find my keys. While this wouldn’t be a problem for a normal person, it was for me, because my keys had a little key fob thingy on it to get into my office building before “office hours.” And, since I was being dropped off before even the janitors got there, I needed it to get in. So, exasperated, I climbed into the front seat and announced to Jake, “I can’t find my keys.”

He looked at me, and said, “You are such a mess!”

Now, to Jake’s defense, I really don’t think he meant any harm in saying that. He didn’t even say it in a menacing way. Just sort of with a smile and an “Oh Dios Mio!” tone. But, to me, it struck some sort of weird downward spiral chord and my first reaction was to scream and bite something (sort of like what Abe does now when he is mad). However, all I did was say something about how it really hurt my feelings and probably some other mean things, most of which I cannot remember (and I am sure that Jake can’t.) Of course he was very apologetic and most likely perplexed at my over-reaction to such a harmless comment.

But, it all makes sense to me now. And this is why:

My life is a mess.

At least, that is what I feel. Not only is my house literally a mess, but my thoughts, feelings, and dresser drawers are a mess, too. I do believe that the twitch was a symptom of what has been a very stressful and anxiety-ridden last couple of months. I think I am still trying to find the balance of being a good mom, a good employee, a good wife, a good friend, and good to myself. To be honest, I don’t think it is possible to be good at all things, and I am really having a hard time with that.

So, for someone trying to really keep it together, having someone tell you that you are a mess really just pushes you over the edge.

I have been trying to figure out why I feel this way, and if I am the only one. I mean, all in all, my life is pretty good. And, to complain makes me feel really bad especially when there are people way worse off than me. I try to appreciate what I have every day. But, sometimes, it gets lost in the mess. So, to make sense of it all, I have been frantically searching for validation in books, Web sites, television shows, other women, etc. I was searching for a checklist or a step-by-step plan on “how to have it all.” Well, guess what? There isn’t one.

But, sometimes there is a small glimmer of familiarity in someone else’s story. So, I guess that is why I wanted to write this. For that one percent of moms out there who read this, and maybe for the future moms who do. It is hard, and I don’t have the answers. Sometimes your life turns into a mess. Sometimes you get eye twitches for seven weeks straight.

I guess my plan is to try to let go. And, I don’t think a little wine and some episodes of the Office will hurt, either.