So Many Deep Breaths &
What Do You People Think I Do Around Here All Day?

yogafingercropped


Today I am teetering on the edge of an all out adult temper tantrum. I can feel it bubbling up every time someone asks me a question, needs help, or bolts into the room spewing a random thought. Like, do you really have to say ALL the things that are in your head out loud?

Every time I hear a knock at the door, the phone ring, or my notifications go off, I am one step closer to losing it. If one more person needs a piece of me today, if one more distraction or interruption happens, I fear, it won’t be pretty.

So many deep breaths. So, so many. I keep reminding myself that I love working from home. Which I do. I love it so hard I could marry it. Except I’m already happily married, and except on those occasions when I have been trying for days to get something accomplished and I just can’t seem to scrape together 10 measly fucking minutes of uninterrupted time. Like today. Or yesterday for that matter.

On those days, I get the impression that some people think working from home is code for ‘sitting around on the couch eating bonbons and watching talk shows’ all day. Trust me, it isn’t. Not. Even. Close. It’s been so long since I’ve watched a talk show I don’t know if that’s even a thing anymore, or if I’m just dating myself by mentioning it.

I’m fairly sure that certain people think I’m just waiting around with anxious anticipation for someone to please ask me for something. You know? So I can feel useful. Really, if I needed to feel useful, I can think of a whole lot better, more fulfilling ways than picking someone’s underwear up off the floor, looking for the book you are 100% positive somebody must have snuck in and stolen in the middle of the night... again, or emptying the dishwasher for the third time in a day! Deep, deep breaths.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being here for my family. I want to be available and I totally love flexibility and freedom in my schedule. I chose that. I chose to work from home. Work being the operative word. W.O.R.K. If some people don’t get what that means pretty soon, I may have to start taking a cut from any birthday/Christmas/odd job money they get, so we can pay the bills. When I occasionally say, “Mom has some work to do upstairs, please don’t interrupt me unless it’s an emergency,” do I really have to explain that wanting a sandwich, or asking for the 100th time this week when we are going back to school shopping, do not constitute emergencies? Who are your parents? Didn’t they teach you what ‘emergency’ means? I may have to have a word with them. Breathe in, breathe out.

See, I am neither a stay at home mom, nor a work out of the house full time mom. I’m somewhere in that grey area between. That area that it can be really hard to understand unless you’ve been there, done that. I don’t spend my days planning children’s crafting sessions on Pinterest, lunching with the ladies, or organizing my closets. Really, if you saw my closets and the general state of my house right now, you would know how preposterous that notion even is! I work and parent and live, ALL at home. It’s complicated. And messy. Oh believe you me, that shit is messy as hell! Inhale peace, exhale tension.

Every time I walk past the mess that is taunting me from, well, from everywhere, it makes me almost understand those people who snap and then stomp around the house fuming and bulgy-eyed, gathering up all their kids’ stuff in garbage bags and throwing it out on the lawn because they have had it! Seriously, if I thought that would solve my problem and give me some relief, I would so be doing that right now. The thought has definitely crossed my mind. Inhale love, exhale wanting to smack someone in the head.

Instead, gritting my teeth and swearing under my breath will have to suffice because I know if I go all bat shit scary mommy crazy, I will just end up feeling like crap about it. Then I’ll have to spend even more time not working, to apologize for my bad behaviour and I’ll have to smooth things over by going for ice cream or something. So, maybe I’ll just close my eyes when I walk around the house. Or maybe I’ll (falsely) declare that we’re having a party so the house needs tidying and everyone (but me) needs to pitch in. Wax on, wax off.

Oh look! The air conditioner has leaked all over the hardwood floor again. In this moment, I can’t quite remember why it is that I never wanted central air, or that I don’t even really like it. All I can think is that if I had central air right now, I wouldn’t be using all the goddamn towels I just washed and folded to mop up the lake that is forming underneath the dining room table. Instead I would be upstairs in my cool home office actually getting some fucking work done! Ommmmm. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.

Jesus Murphy! Whose idea was it to put that annoying water drop sound on my phone every time a text comes in? You know what sound I want to hear right now? The sound of fucking silence. That’s the sound I want my phone to make. Sure, I’d turn the sound off if I knew how, or if my kid wasn’t out and ‘keeping in touch’ like I asked him to, or, if my husband wasn’t texting me from the grocery store every five minutes about what I asked him to get or what we’re eating for dinner on the weekend. Deep breath. Count to 10.  May I be filled with loving kindness....

I know he’s just trying to do me a favour, and I totally appreciate that, I really do, but I am trying to get some work done here and as unlike me as it sounds not to care about food, right now, I don’t give a shit what we’re eating at camp on the weekend. I don’t care if you buy English or mini cucumbers! I love you, you know I do, but buy the couscous, don’t buy it. I have zero fucks to give about couscous right now. Namaste honey!

For the love of God people, I just want to do some work. Is that really too much to ask?

I feel like I can’t get enough air right now. Maybe I need to go lie in savasana for awhile. Or maybe I need to go write this shit down quick, before everyone gets home and someone needs a sandwich.

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