It's 12:01am and it's Monday...and heck, I'm already tired. Not so much head heavy. More along the lines of emotionally drained. And the week hasn't even begun. Crap.
Ever have one of those days when you ask yourself what the heck you are doing with your life? What your legacy will be? What your epitaph will read? (Oh come on, it's October. The question is admissible...)
So do you?
I do.
Everyday.
The question, like a year-old moldy tomato, usually gets hidden behind everyday life. Like "What's for dinner?" "What's for lunch?" and...the inevitable, "What's for dinner?" Sure, there's the occasional "Where the heck are my warm fuzzy slippers?" and even the random, "What was I thinking!?!", but understand that these are not the only sides that the round funky veggie (yes, some argue it's a fruit...so be it) gets lost behind.
There's the child asking, "Why do I have to brush my teeth?" and "I don't have any clean underwear. Where are my underwear?" The husband asking, "Can you pick up that Dill Havarti and sweet tea when you run to the grocery store today?"...and the acceptance that while trying to pick up that Dill Havarti and sweet tea, that the 99 cent recycle bags (that you were so gung-ho to purchase) are sitting right where you left them - on the kitchen table, baskng in the sun. Oh how you long to be there with them. Yes, so much for the "Green Samaritan" who's going to save the world of filth and destruction! (Yes, go ahead, throw that green cape to the floor and stomp on it...if it makes you feel better.)
Most Moms love being Moms. Trust me...and immensely. After all, being a parent is an incredible journey. The women of the tribe are just plain tired. Ok, tired and in need of adult conversation. Ok, tired...adult conversation...and a haircut. Anyways, you catch my drift. Although somehow I feel like I need to follow that up with a "Wonga Wonga", and a "Where the heck is my dinosaur din din?"
Somewhere the line blurred, the lights dimmed and "Nope...sorry, no one's home!" is the only sound that echoes miles around. A crusty-eyed woman in a pink bath robe, with a hairstyle from 1982 is left searching in the silence for a simple crackle. Electricity...a spark...anything...just so she knows that there is an answer to the question, "Why am I here?...Why?" Believe me. You may not hear it clearly, but she's asking.
Listen, this isn't about pouting and throwing a hissy fit. This is reality. There's no time to pout. Dammit there are beds to be made. But every once in awhile, when condiments have been depleted, sides have been scarfed, and that old moldy tomato resurfaces. Acknowledge it. I'm not saying you have to devour it, but spend quality time with it. I don't know, strap it in, put the top down and take it for a joy ride. However you do it, make sure you also take a good look at the growth. Over time, underneath all the gray matter, yes...there still lies a rich center with many seeds to be sown.
Oh how I long to be motivated today. Well that, and for some reason I feel like a bowl of spaghetti...
Happy Monday!
(Hey, don't forget I left you a freebie.)
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