I had a Charlie Brown moment yesterday. Specifically, I had a Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown moment as I stepped out of the shower yesterday. (Stay with me, here.)
Only a week in, October has felt like a sprint. A sprint that I so wanted to enjoy and excel at, but one which left me feeling a little, well, winded. So when I grabbed a towel to dry my hair and the barrage of thoughts raced through my head (articles left to write, at least one kid needing to be woken up, at least one kid needing to be heavily bribed into leaving the house, dinner to be prepped- again?! Why is it always, always “almost dinnertime”) I found myself just standing there in the tiny bathroom with the towel draped over my face and head.
I let it stay that way.
For what seemed like an hour, but which was in all actuality probably only four minutes.
October is Birthday Month. (Not mine. Oh no, not Jasper’s either. He was gracious enough to wait until the week before Christmas, thankyoulittleman.) Suzy’s, Nora’s, P.J.’s. And I love birthdays. I love them. I want to celebrate with people and glitter the house and make each moment a Special One.
But between class parties and birthday parties and actual birth days, that’s an awful lot of Special Moments.
All which require focus and attention I don’t possess in normal months, like say September.
So what do I do when I find myself lacking in the irrational, unvoiced goals I’ve set for each day (especially in a Special Month)? I find myself unable to say no to PR people, to theatre requests, to product reviews. Surely one of these tinier tasks will be an easy checkmark on my Post-it note (staple-gunned to the fridge)?
What results is a state of- let’s go ahead and call it heightened awareness– with a body and brain set firmly to the “fight” selection of “fight or flight.” Eggs are ferociously fried in the a.m. School drop-off is akin to a tuck n’ roll movemovemove,people drill. And when grief ekes its way into my undefended person (I was holding too many glue sticks, you see, and couldn’t possibly ward it off in time), I find myself ill-equipped to deal.
Hence standing in the bathroom with a face-covering towel, just like a ghostly sheet with too many eyeholes. How did this even happen? Why can’t I do anything right? Is there still conditioner in my hair?
You know, eerily like the movie.
It has recently come to my attention that I’m neither perfect not superhuman. (But after watching one too many episodes of Daredevil I’m fairly certain I’d be terrific in a street fight. At least for the first two and a half minutes.)
I want to be great. I want to be present. I want to take a nap and, upon awakening, be informed that during my sleep everyone unanimously decided that I was both great and present. (Go back to bed! You won! You won Thursday!)
But there are no mid-week participation ribbons ’round here and, despite a cold that won’t lessen its iron grip and the very real possibility that I recently fractured my right shin, none of my issues even count as real, immediate, global ones.
And I’d like to say that I’ll be nicer to myself. But the line has already been drawn in the sand (with a glue stick). I want things to count, I don’t want them to spin by, I need to know that I’m not working towards regret.
“Mom. Ow.”
So if that means Frantic Festivity until November (you know, right before the holidays ramp up), then so be it. Although I could probably take a step back from some of this glitter.
And I should probably get this shin looked at.
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