Wednesday, April 11, 2012


Does anyone else ever feel like they're choking to death in a pit of what the fuck?

I mean, pardon my French, but if you ask me, I'm too familiar with the taste of that nasty muck.

I'm a poet and I didn't know it. (Sorry, second and third grade humor reigns in my house.)

It's all one step forward, two steps back sometimes, isn't it.

Yay, my bonus is coming! Boo, we owe more than that in taxes. (BTW, can someone tell me what country doesn't suck that also doesn't have taxes? Because I'd like to move there, please.)

Yippee, the puppy finished school with flying colors! Rats, he just ran out of the house and tore across three lawns and into the street with all four of us chasing after him.

I'm sure he thought it was the most fun he'd had since he polluted the RV. And if I was watching it from a neighbor's window, I'd probably pee my pants - which I have been known on occasion to do - at the sight of us all running at full speed but coming nowhere near to catching him. We could have maybe caught his tongue, which was flapping in the breeze, but that thing is slippery.

In the moment though, his escape wasn't that funny. We had just been talking about taxes, which formed the thick, murky base of the WTF choking potion, which came after the fight to get Seven to do her homework, which was timed perfectly with the argument with Nine about why three cups of organic cheesy bunny snacks isn't an appropriate snack in and of itself, even if it IS organic, which led to us being a mere 8 minutes away from the time that ballet class starts. And in case you were wondering, ballet doesn't start in my living room, it starts one town over. That's the moment when the puppy decided to shove his gigantic, hairy self out of the front door, take a leap over the front hedge, and take off like a racehorse heading for a finish line decorated with kittens and milkbones. Except in his case, the race ended with the alpha dog (also known in this case as The Very Angry Husband Who May Have Just Pulled A Hamstring In The Middle Of The Street) catching him and "helping" him back into the house.

Now, if I was the dog, and I'd been listening to the taxes and the cheesy bunny conversation and the whining about the math, I'd have run away too.

Let's be serious, I'm not the dog and I wanted to run away.

But I didn't. I swallowed my crazy, and got in the car with the girls and drove like a maniac safely to ballet, explaining all the way there that no, me and their dad actually aren't the meanest dog owners in the world, because listen girls, it's really, really hard to teach a dead dog that running out of the house into the street isn't a good idea, because he might get hit by a car. Then, I choked back some tears, got a chai tea latte, sat in the hallway at the studio and started tapping away here.

How do all of you deal with the dance of life? Where do you find the extra joy you need to make those backwards steps not quite as tumultuous? Is it juicing cucumber and spinach? Pouring a Chardonnay? Taking an extra exercise class? Writing a blog? Do you meditate? And if you do, on a side note, how do you meditate without falling asleep? Or is that the goal? Because I can always use more sleep. And more Chardonnay. And more dancing and meditation and exercise and green juice.

This is me, begging the collaborative you, to share your infinite wisdom so that I can catch back up with myself (and the running puppy). I need to remember where to find the silver lining on days like this. I need to find my uncrazy self so I can be happy, helpful, smiling, grateful mommy.

I need to inhale and outhale and keep plowing ahead, even with the full realization that the choreography of life will take me backwards again at some point.

Thanks in advance.


Grumpy McNeedsalot


  1. Good questions. No answers. Just an amen.

    1. Sometimes that's all it takes to feel better. :)

  2. If it was a pie chart, my wine slice would choke a horse, followed by a nice big slab of snuggling my kids and smelling their hair, along with smaller slices of therapy, exercise and reality tv. Who am I kidding, my reality tv slice is pretty damn big too. And the a la mode on top is made from a few close calls that force me to keep things in perspective. But they don't always stay there, slippery little fuckers.

    1. So, more wine, and less slippery fuckers then? That's what I got from this anyway. :)