I am failing at life.
That is what I sent my husband via text message. He’s one I reach out to when I feel like I’m about to drown. My precious anchor of a man.
What have I done today?!
This is what I asked my five year old. It was a rhetorical question, but she still answered quickly, “you cleaned the house for us.”
I sighed. The pile of pizza boxes, empty milk cartons, and plastic bags by the back door desiring to be taken outside begged to differ. It was more like I tried to clean up. I picked up to keep rats from coming or my sanity from slipping further than it already had. The sink overflowed with a trail of angry dishes stacked upon the counter, and a pile of dirty clothes waited for their turn in the already humming washer.
Help me, Lord. I’m not doing good today.
I cried out to God to calm my frayed nerves, but even I could tell my frantically uttered petitions were desperate rather than the calm clarity of faith they needed to be. It made me feel worse, almost defeated.
I had yelled when they spilled a root beer after I had said, “don’t spill your root beer.” Even as I raised my voice, feeling almost out of control, I couldn’t reel my angry words back in. I felt like I had exploded after so many things piled on top of me, and I just wanted to scream.
We were running late, and I wondered where time had trotted off to. Much like my patience it had simply disappeared. I felt unaccomplished, and though I knew I had fed children a home-cooked breakfast, developed my lessons plans for homeschool, and played for an extended period on the floor with the baby, my mind couldn’t focus on what I had done. It focused on what I had not.
I suppose some days are like that. You feel like an absolute failure. You feel like you yelled too much and let it just slide too little. So even when you say “I’m sorry” and your kid says “it’s ok, mom” you still feel like crawling into a dungeon made for bad moms.
Some days you feel like you’re in control of nothing, that you’re no good at getting things done, and that your children deserve better.
So you rush out of the house, and while baby and preschool tears are long dried, you feel as if yours could come at any time.
I’m failing at this.
But later while giggly girls dance in ballet class gleefully, looking quite perfect despite your apparent failures, and a baby laughs joyfully while staring lovingly at your face, you consider that maybe you’re doing ok.
Maybe I’m not failing. Maybe I’m getting by. And maybe sometimes that’s the best I can hope for in these crazy days.
Then in the midst of my musings about not being an utter and total failure my husband texts back.
Yea we have this conversation about once a month. It’s just a messy house; who cares, you can’t do a baby, write a blog, clean the house, take kids to dance, go to grocery store, sell Rodan and fields, rebuild the motor in the van, and make me feel special all at the same time. You have chosen what’s important/necessary to be done and the rest suffers. It’s life, no big deal.
I knew I reached out to him for a reason. After I picked myself off the floor from collapsing in laughter I realized my spouse was quite right. Sometimes it’s not that you’re a failure, you just focus on what’s important. The rest is no big deal.
And no, I’m not rebuilding the motor in the van. Maybe next month though.