Sometimes All I Have Left Is Dry Shampoo & Cereal

It’s Tuesday morning and already it feels like there’s been more days in the week than are actually planned on the calendar. The alarm strikes at 5 and I hit snooze 3 times before forcing my eyes open. I lay in bed for a minute contemplating trading in my work out for a few more minutes of sleep, but then I look over at my son snoozing sideways next to me, and that was all the incentive needed to drag myself out of bed because he would be full force once his eyes open. I need time to myself; without my 3-year-old crawling all over me and making demands before I take my first sip of coffee. Before the struggle to get my 12 year old out of bed, and then rushing around to make it out the door, on time for school.

It’s Tuesday morning, but it kind of feels like GroundHog day because this is how most mornings go. It’s the same struggle, the same routine, and the same feeling of overwhelm and exhaustion. I dust my 6-day old dirty hair with several sprays of dry shampoo, throw a sugar filled yogurt pack at Bo, and we race out the door. Dare I mention the tantrums that went down before we stepped onto the front porch? I’ll spare you the details, but I will tell you that it started over what arm I chose to slide into his coat first. I drop Bo off at daycare, who’s crying because he just wants me to hold him and take him back home, but according to my watch, I don’t have time for a pep talk and another hug. I walk out the door, stricken with guilt, and then take the silent car ride to drop my oldest off at school. She’s like this most mornings; it’s the teenager in her. I give her a warm smile and tell her to have a great day and she mumbles “thanks.” “I hope it’s enough,” I tell myself.

On my hardest days, on my mediocre days and even on the best days, I find myself saying that a lot. I hope it’s enough. I hope I did enough. I hope I loved them enough. I hope I laughed enough, I played enough, was present enough. I drive myself to work, mind racing about how I feel like I’m drowning in failure – and if it weren’t for my vast need to overcompensate for my own childhood – I’d be more confident that this is all just very normal. Snap out of it, Amy.

The work day goes by, and that comes with its own set of challenges, but it’s a job I mostly look forward to showing up to everyday. Today in particular, though, drained me. It felt like I was putting out fires and chasing herds of cats all day. I pick up Bo from daycare and he spots a caterpillar in the driveway. We ponder over the furry, black and red creature for longer than I would like, and I start to get anxious. I promised that we would find it again tomorrow after announcing that it was time to go, but Bo cried for the caterpillar all the way home. I felt bad for not letting him play a little longer, and decided that tomorrow we will just offer the caterpillar a place to live because that’s what a good mom would do. That caterpillar better be there tomorrow, right where we found him.

By the time dinner rolls around, I’ve played 100 rounds of catch, folded two loads of laundry and have had 2 glasses of wine. Don’t judge me, we all have our own vices. Cooking a meal sounds daunting, so I decide on a microwavable pasta entree that I will have to spoon-feed to Bo because lately he refuses to eat unless “Mama feed me.” We also don’t eat at the dinner table anymore because after he broke his leg a few months ago, it was more comfortable for him to eat on the couch with his leg propped. I start to wonder how we will ever break this new habit and then I think back to the days I used to make homemade dinners every night, because frozen, pre-packaged meals were not in my Italian blood. But, this is survival and if I am really being honest, sometimes the kids eat cereal and popsicles for dinner.

Bath time is a disaster and I clean up more water on the floor than what I drain in the tub. The dogs are doing circles in the bathroom, splashing in the water, and Bodhi is running naked around Addie’s room while she screams for him to get out. “This is my life. One wild and crazy shit show after another,” I tell myself, and I pour one last glass of wine. I digress.

I kiss my girl goodnight and then Bo and I climb into my bed, another habit we picked up after he broke his leg, and we turn on Trolls. He twirls my hair while he sings along to the joyful little gremlins prancing around Bergen town and I hear Addie giggling on the phone in the room next door. This is my favorite part of the day, because no matter how difficult or exhausting it was, there is no place I would rather be than right here with my kids. And tomorrow, we will wake up and do this all over again.

I know that I don’t need to tell you how hard it is to be a parent, but what I do want to tell you is to stop being so hard on yourself.  The days are long, and sometimes so freaking hard. There will be days when self-care isn’t an option because you’ll choose to hit snooze a few times in the morning. There will be days when over-exhaustion will require that third glass of wine and a microwavable dinner. There will be days when there is more yelling than there is loving and days that make you fall to your knees. But on those days, you will remember to laugh. You will enjoy the conversations at dinner time, whether it’s at the table or on the couch. At the end of the day, you will take it all in, and you’ll be grateful for the little moments because it’s those moments that will reel you back in to remind you that you really are doing this right. And if not, you’re still doing it right. Our kids need to know that we are human, and that we struggle to navigate life, too.

I’m not doing life perfectly, I’m just doing what works for me. Even if sometimes all I have left is dry shampoo and cereal. And friend? You’re doing ok, too.