If I were going to parody the LMFAO song, "Party Rock Anthem," I'd change the line, "Everyday I'm shufflin'," to "Every day I'm strugglin'." This week has been tough.
I have a project I'm working on that I'd really like to succeed.
I have advising and curriculum changes at the college where I teach.
two year old has boycotted bedtime, and she and her brother make the
relationship between our two presidential candidates look like kittens
snuggling in a basket.
I am spearheading the Halloween party at
the kids' school, which at this point is going to look like it was
planned by a meth addict.
One of my favorite moms in my neighborhood just moved halfway across the country. We shared a tearful good-bye like five year olds.
And there's teaching, my weeds growing on it blog, childcare and my minimal self care and housework.
though my dance card is full, I feel like life is blah. A few high
notes, some low notes, but mostly, as a good friend said, "wash, rinse,
Do you hear the violins playing?
Earlier, I told a friend that the only way I could keep
on top of it all would be if life would stop for a little while. Stop
like a Ferris Wheel - you climb down, wait for it to go around a few
times, and then you hop back on.
Then I got on the Blogging While Mom page, the page of the mom bloggers' group I belong to, and saw
that a blogger some of the women knew had lost her daughter suddenly in
a car accident.
I began sobbing
instantly. Since I've had my own children the thought of a mother
losing her child has become the thing that pierces my heart the most.
My greatest fear come true.
I sobbed for this mother, who will
never again hold her sweet little girl. Never watch her grow up -
graduate, start and progress through a career, get married and start a
family of her own. Not to mention the day-to-day. The ordinary, the
wondrous, the triumphs and the struggles. I cried for the hole she must
have in her heart.
And of course, sadly, selfishly, I cried
for myself. For punishment I suppose. For taking myself too seriously,
for being consumed by minutiae and for needing the specter of death to
give me perspective on inconvenience, slights from acquaintances and
strangers, and challenging children. Is death the only slap in the face
that works for me?
To Stumbling Toward Perfect, please know you
are in my thoughts and prayers. I cannot even begin to know what you must be
feeling, and for me, on the outside looking in, there are no words. I imagine that for you there are millions of words -- too many -- to say what
you are feeling, to say to your beautiful little girl, to the universe,
and to mothers like me who don't know how blessedly fortunate every
pain-in-the ass moment really is.