"Kinda killing this mom thing", I think to myself as I head out the door to pick up the youngest. It's 9:30PM. I'm in baggy sleep shorts, a t-shirt from a diner in Enterprise, OR, a Nike jacket/sweater/robe that hangs to my calves, a gray jacket that I get complimented on frequently but have no idea who it belongs to as it just one day appeared on a hook in our coat cubby and after many failed attempts to find an owner, I kept it. Topped off with a black cross-body bag. It's not a fanny pack. No matter what my mean little children say. Bottomed off with well loved Uggs.
It's close to past my bedtime but I like the kid run around. Even though I whine about it... It gives us time to chat, catch up, listen to music. Tonight on the run around, I am listening to Marcy Playground. Trying to decide if the self-titled album is as good as I remembered it was way back in 1997 when I just about wore out the CD in my Ford Tempo. In 2026, it's fine.
By 9:45 we're home. I'm wiped out. It is now past my bedtime. Quick conversation on tomorrows school drop off time, double check the doors and grab the dog. He's curled up in his very fluffy donut bed in front of the fire. I pick him up. He's getting old. Struggling with the stairs lately. I take him up to our room and gently set him down in his very fluffy donut bed in front of our window. I'm not sure he really noticed the change in floors or beds. I give him a bedtime cookie, which perks him up for a second before he falls back to sleep, almost immediately snoring. I would like a bedtime cookie. But, sweets this late will have me with restless legs for hours, and since I'm living the perimenopausal dream, that one cookie will leave me 14 pounds heavier in the morning.
By 10:05, I've brushed my teeth, rubbed all manner of anti-aging product on my face and neck and taken my vitamins.
"Definitely killing it" I say to myself as I sink into our adjustable bed at 10:07.
Definitely.
Preach sister
ReplyDeleteI feel this in my soul.
ReplyDeleteGreat moment by moment account!
ReplyDeleteMy Get Around story was a trip in the 2960 Plymouth Fury? Dad asked me to follow him down to the dealership where he was leaving his car to be worked on. I had just gotten out of the shower and had on my nightie and slippers, wet head wrapped in a bath towel as I climber into the car. Midway on the trip to dealer, Dad’s car burst into flames jetting out from the under carriage. I laid on my horn to get his attention, but he didn’t pull over so I kept honking and honking as we drove through the 20 mile an hour zone by an elementary school. Finally, he pulled over and crawled out of the car. He wasn’t the least bit hurt but my ego was. No cell phones in those days. But somehow the fire department showed up and the police department. As a teenager, I was mortified standing on the sidewalk by the school zone in my nightie with my head wrapped in a towel while they questioned me about what had happened. It was daylight and I wish I had had a trenchcoat and hat pilled down to my eyebrows. Never again!!!