When the Ball Drops

Sometimes, juggling ALL the things can get tough.

Tough even when you aren’t juggling a newborn, toddler who’s potty training, threenager, & a 5 year old who thinks he’s in charge of the Netflix account.

I mean, really, you should see the crap in his que. Turtles, and ninjas, and transforming everythings. It’s too much. I just want to catch up on Scandal without having to see suggestions because he watched Power Rangers go to the Moon and Save Earth From Mutant Spiders.

No. Just. NO.

I know we seem like we’ve got our junk all together. Like, it’s so funny that my kids are so funny. That I’m winning so good at parenting & life because I highlight the stuff I want you to read.

But it’s exhausting, guys. These kids?They scream a lot.  They pinch and bite one another every time I flippin’ turn my back to them.  Amos has cut nutrigrain bars & spaghetti from the rotation.  Now it’s yogurt with sprinkles and peanut butter crackers.  Margaret Hannah never grew listening ears!!!

EX…HAUS…TING!

So much so that it’s causing me problems with nursing Porter. He wasn’t back up to his birth weight at his 2 week checkup, and that sent his pediatrician straight to the formula train. I’m not anti formula, I’m just anti choices. I mean, hello! I walked out of my scheduled induction. I need options in my life.

But hearing the things he was saying sent me into a panick. He didn’t offer anything for me to do to correct the problem, and my 4th trimester mental stability flung itself out the window. I couldn’t hold it all together anymore.  I couldn’t juggle one more thing in my life. 

It felt like a huge fail to drop one of the balls. 

I immediately started texting mama friends I knew could help and Googling solutions for being able to pick the ball back up. That led me to a health food store that smelled like patchouli and dirt. I even got to “ting” a Japanese Bell of “tranquility and satisfaction” on my way out.

I lie to you not.

Then I came home to the chaos reality that is my life. A sink full of dirty dishes,  animals and humans who needed to be fed, LAUNDRY that plagues my soul.

More balls being dropped.  More mama guilt sneaking in.

So I did what I had to do to stay sane. I Zack Morrised a time out by letting the kids splash & play in the bath tub for over an hour, ate a pint (yes, entire freaking pint) of Ben & Jerry’s brownie batter core, and refused to cook anything besides sandwiches.

A few balls got picked back up.  Bedtime was early, our nursing schedule sessions doubled, and I found out why Rowan made Jake marry that girl EVEN THOUGH Olivia was living at home with them again. Slowly, a little sanity and clarity was returning.

Sometimes it’s ok to drop a ball or five you can’t juggle anymore.  It’s ok to say no to things. I’m very good at “no” in the grocery store or Walmart. It’s also ok to refuse to brine and massage Mr Gold and then bake him in the cast iron skillet your husband had to buy just for chickens. Dropped ball.

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I put him in the crackpot, and he smells wonderful.  Ball picked back up.

I also said yes to a few play dates that don’t require clean houses, yes to unlimited Popsicles on the patio during the witching hour, and yes to binging Scandal during nap instead of folding clothes.

More balls, back in the air.

And, of course, I accepted the plea’s requests to help put Porter to bed from the great helpers I’m raising.

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Right now, dropping all the balls isn’t an option. Complaining about them is enough to help me remember how amazing my life is right now.  And I hope you give yourself some grace every once and a while when the juggling gets too hard in your life. You deserve it.

PS Why can’t we time out like Zach? That needs to become a thing. All these mama’s out in public breaking the 4th wall with a dramatic “Time Out” just to carry on with what you wanted to be doing in the first place. Yes. Yes, I like that idea very much.

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