Constant

There is a dead spider in my hallway.

I am embarrassed to say how long it has been there, but let’s just say I might have noticed it shortly after my last post.

It’s not that it doesn’t freak me out a little every time I pass it, and I am certainly not keeping it there for any particular reason, I just haven’t quiet gotten to it yet.

As of late, my house has looked more like a pack of rabid weasels have come in and torn the place apart than the organized tight ship I like to run.  OK, so maybe it’s more like organized chaos with one oar out of the water type of life raft, but it works for me.  As of late, it’s not even a pool floaty with a slow leak.

As in most households with school age children, the craziness involved in the transition from the relaxed wonders of summer vacation to the ramp up of a new school year has once again provided a quick snap back to reality.  Only, the problem is, this reality (that of being a working single mom) and I have yet to really meet, let alone become friends.

Over the past few crazy weeks, while I have been coming to grips with what this looks like, there is one word that keeps coming back and best defines it; this new life is constant.

This life is a constant state of what’s next, what was left un-done, and that is just going to have to wait for another day because it’s not vital that I do it today.  A constant state of never enough time, constant reference to the “to-do” list, and constant longing for 15 minutes to just sit down in silence and breathe.

As with the majority of women I know, I felt that I pretty much did the crux of the household management when I was married.  Even if that was true, there was always someone to tap me out of the ring when it became too much; the fall back of divide and conquer.  But now, that dynamic no longer exists.   This truly came to light on the Fourth of July in what can now be called “The Great Taco Sauce Incident”. We had dinner with all of the neighbors at the pool, and as the sky became overcast we all headed home.  There was some debate on whether to go into town to try to watch the fireworks vs. get caught in a legendary southern downpour, and in the end we decided to go for it.  As I was handing out typical pre-departure directions to the girls (go to the bathroom, grab a raincoat, and for the love of God please take off those new white sandals before they are covered in red Georgia mud) I was quickly unloading the dinner contents out of the cooler and into the fridge.  The jar of taco sauce slipped out of my hands.  It was new. It was family size.  It was practically full.  Trying to grab it mid-air only made it tumble out of control and cover the walls, cupboards, and inside the fridge with red taco sauce.  At the same moment my sister honks the horn indicating that her family is waiting for us to pile into the minivan and head downtown.   In my prior life it would have been easy to say “you get the kids and I will clean this up” or, ideally, had another pair of hands to help with the mess.  But as it quickly came to light, it’s all me, baby.

That is just one example of many where it is not only the physical (how do I move that filing cabinet down the stairs by myself, or accept the fact that I have to wait for someone to come over to help me) to the logistical (no one else to attend school open house, review homework, or share soccer practice duties with.  Trying to scheduling each girls’ activities on separate days so there are no driving conflicts) to the financial (no one to discuss with the pros and cons of getting the chimney cap sanded and painted vs. replacing it with a new one). 

Which brings me to the last constant, and that is one that I know so well; guilt.

Oh, guilt is my constant companion and loves to keep me company late at night.  Guilt that it’s never good enough.  If I need to focus on the kids, work suffers.  If I focus on work, the kids suffer.  Guilt knowing that in either situation I am doing all I can and I feel it’s barely enough to get by.  My inbox is out of control, and I missed items on the girls’ school supply list.  I decline a call to be able to attend meet and greet, and I miss open house because I am on a plane coming back from who knows where.  I greet them at the bus stop every day I am home at 2:30 but am not always there to kiss them goodnight. All the while I am just trying to keep that constant pace, reminding myself to still talk kindly, keep a smile on, keep it in perspective, and most importantly keep it together.

Look, it’s not that I didn’t know it was going to be hard.  I really did think these scenarios through.  And it may come off like this post is just one big complaint, but I really mean it when I say it’s not- it just is what it is.  I am beyond grateful to have support from my amazing sister and her family, which I would never be able to do any of this without. Because while the reality is that it may seem I have made it more difficult than it needs to be because we moved, I would gladly take this constant pace with the other constant that I know- and that is that moving is still the right choice, and I would make the same decision all over again if I had to.

So, I acknowledge that reality- my reality- is changing.  And I guess that is the true constant in life- change. We learn to grow and adapt better than we ever thought possible, and in looking back we amaze even ourselves when we say “I can’t believe I made it through that”.

Well, at least that’s what I hope I will say, or at least something like it.

Until then, I have a dead spider I need to attend to.