Meh.

Let me just tell you guys that my head and heart are just so beyond fucked up right now. I'm not even sure I'm capable of writing it all out and that's unusual for me. I just can't deal. I'm almost numb really.

Musings of impromptu adventure

Some days you have had enough and everything is just too much. So I walked. Right out that door without a word. Found myself in a park. Literally and figuratively. And I knew he was cooking. I knew the kids were going crazy. I knew the baby was about up be hungry. Yet still, I walked. I couldn't take anymore. So I sat there. I watched the sun kiss the earth. I laid back watching the clouds waltz with each other. I had a young man stop and ask me if I was alright. I looked up to see a face I used to know. Then we stopped and talked a while. I told him of my children. My home. My life. And just like old times he shared his. A wife and kids waiting at home. He talked of her laughter and how it filled his heart. Their bedtime routines most nights. The way the kids ran to say hello when he walked through the door. And in this conversation I asked him why he wasn't there. He said "you see, I work a lot and it causes some stress. So before I go home to them I come here. I shoot some ball to clear my head. It eases the tension. Then when I get home I can just be there". I replied saying it's like having two jobs, but there he corrected me once more. Saying being home was the greatest feeling but they deserved his whole attention and heart. Playing ball wasn't for his sake but theirs. He went home feeling refreshed instead of stressed. That way he could play with the kids while his wife made dinner or even make dinner himself. He could help with chores without getting overwhelmed, he could read stories and at night when the kids were in bed he could hang out with his wife without being too tired. I asked what kind of things they did and he told me of watching the sun set and talking, or sitting in silence just enjoying one another. Sometimes they would watch shows and sometimes they just teamed up to get the housework done. But whatever it was, they did it together. And when his back hurt or hers they would care for each other. He paid attention to the circles under her eyes when she was struggling or the small tilt of the corner of her mouth when she was playful and the way she took such care with everything she did. She noticed when work had overwhelmed him, or if he needed some extra time to recover. He appreciated her and she him. And often it was hard but they helped one another get through the good and the bad. I asked him why he did the things he did for her. He described to me a love like no other. His love for her. Said it made him not only want to be better, but to also strive for better. To show his kids real love. To raise them with all his heart. To cherish her forever. Actions behind words. So I sat there and I wondered. I watched the sky kiss the earth goodnight. I went home to my own and felt joy as my children ran to greet me. Yes, sometimes you just can't take anymore. Buy some days you're reminded what you're living for. I may not have those things he does, but I have three small children that are my world. I may not have someone taking care of me but I realize now I have to take care of me for their sake. So no more waiting or moaning or groaning. It's time to start living again, with or without that something more.

A beer for momma.

Why do you like going to the bar?

Such a simple question. Could be blown off with a simple answer. Usually "because being an adult means alcohol is a reward". But here is the truth of the matter:

Because I'm the responsible one. I'm the one that cooks. I'm the one that cleans 95% of the time. I'm the one that knows what bills are due, when they're due and how to pay them. I know that the sponge on the dish wand has approximately one week left before it falls apart. I know how much a new one costs and exactly what aisle to go get one from. I know when the animals ate last. How much food they have. When we'll need more. I know the places in the house where the dirty hides and I'm the one that uncovers it instead of just pretending it isn't there. I'm the one that could tell you precisely what drawer the potatoes are in or what hook the can opener is on. I know the kids. When they ate, when they slept, if their nose is runny or their hearts hurt. I know their dreams, and it's my job to help them get there. I know their quirks, their habits and I'm constantly trying to teach them better. I know my husbands moods. Whether he's happy or frustrated or angry. Though I'm still learning when is the right time to actually communicate with him. I know exactly how long it will take me to catch up on laundry. And how high is too high before the grass is full of bugs. I know what time the mail runs. And in my head is stored schedules for events, birthdays, appointments, when school starts, what is needed before, familial obligations and that one friend who's felt neglected recently. Day in. Day out. I'm the responsible one. I know precisely what is in the diaper bag and what is needed. How soon we'll run out of diapers or wipes. How long that can of formula will last and how to soothe a grumpy newborn. I know exactly how long until the two year old needs a nap or has a melt down. I know that whiny lilt means the six year old didn't get enough sleep or that he's having a bad day (and which one). I practice being the balance between my sons need for control and my husbands temper. I try my hardest to teach all of the kids through example and not just words thrown at them. I've trained my body to only need a few hours sleep because that's all it will get anyways. But I also know that in the event I don't sleep, which happens often, I will still function tomorrow. Because I'm the responsible one. I don't get to sleep in. I don't get to run away for a few hours. I don't get to sit around and be lazy because I'm tired or sick or in a bad mood. No. Because I'm the responsible one. And when I do say screw it and do those things I have twice as much to do later. I know what time to make dinner before the whole house gets grumpy. And I'm in charge of making sure their diet is balanced. I know where everything is and have become a master at finding lost items. I make the house functional and organized. I keep our lives running as smoothly as possible. I try to bite my tongue when angry. I do my best to put others first. I go without so the family has more. I make a lot of sacrifices to make sure others don't have to. I understand my husbands need to escape, and my six year olds need for an emotional outlet, and that the two year old wants to learn and loves to play, and that the newborn just wants to be held. And I do my best to ensure every single one of them gets what they want and need. I'm constantly thinking and doing whatever I can for them. I barely have a social life. I have little to no free time, and what little I do is usually given to others. I've given up writing and art to spend more time with them. I've given up hope of school for financial security. I've turned down adventure for stability. Not my own, but others. I take others into account before I ever wonder about myself. I give them everything. I have slowly molded myself into everything this family needs (though it's still a work in progress). You see, even when I myself am completely a mess, I can't just stop being responsible. So why do I go to the bar? Because sometimes it's too much. Sometimes I want to be the one that gets to run outside or throw my dishes in the sink and not have to wash them later. Sometimes I want to go to bed and sleep in. Sometimes I get the urge to run away. Sometimes, I don't want to be me anymore. Every now and then it's nice to remember the woman I used to be. The one that laughed freely and sang and wasn't JUST the responsible one. The one that ran barefoot through forests and laid on the couch drawing in her underwear. The one that could handle all of the responsibility yet somehow still have the freedom to be herself. The one that didn't have to watch her every move to avoid an argument. The one that could dance in the living room without feeling self conscious. The woman that felt loved, even if she was the only one that loved herself. The one that didn't shut down pieces of herself to make others happy. The one that didn't depend on anyone for her happiness like so many depend on her. Because every now and then it's worth the double work load later just to have a few hours to feel free. Because I've realized that no mater how much I give to others, the same won't be done for me. Because I'm the responsible one but sometimes I don't want to be. So every now and then, I go to the bar. No responsibility. No stress. Just me. Remembering.