Enough and other random musings

I am sitting at the desk upstairs.

In an attempt to regain some level of sanity, I am having “alone” time.

Each day, I take a half hour to an hour to do whatever I’d please, but mostly I stare at the computer and beg the words to come. It is the way I have coped for most of my teenage through adult years thus far.

Some times the words are placed in a notebook with a pen. Mostly I like writing here, sharing with you what I’m going through in an attempt for all of us to feel less lonely.

Parenting can be so fucking lonely.

I have no idea what to do with myself. I haven’t done this in the five years I’ve been a mother. Now that there are three of them though it has become necessary for my mental health. It isn’t much, it isn’t long. It is just so I can breathe in peace.

Time feels like it is slipping away from me some days and then I feel guilty about taking time for myself. I am never alone. Even now, as I sit here, I can hear them laughing and screeching downstairs. I can hear the dog pacing, keeping her eye out the window, looking for the fox who is haunting our chickens. I can hear my daughter crying now. Crying, nails clacking, laughing.

I need this time but even this isn’t enough.

I need this time. I need quiet.

But where is the time going? I am going to be 31 on Thursday. I am struggling with the fact that 31 years has gone by since I entered this world. What have I done with this life? Is this what I need to be doing? I mean, sitting upstairs, writing to you, an outlet for me? Shouldn’t I be able to move past anxiety at this point? Knowing how to breathe properly, laugh properly? Smile easily? Have fun? I haven’t had a drink in over a year. I sort of want to get drunk but at the same time I know that would be the end for me and I most likely wouldn’t stop. But the nice weather is coming and I wonder what will I do? Will we spend our days staring at the TV, watching videos of other kids opening boxes and creepy videos while the Finger Family song plays on repeat?

This can’t be it. There has to be more. And here I sit, listening to my family downstairs, close to bedtime, wondering what the meaning of life is.

This is why I need more alone time.

I need to breathe and think clearly and wonder about what the fuck this is all about. Because it could end any minute and what will my kids remember if it is me who goes in some tragedy? Will they remember how cross I was earlier when they spilled water on the floor or yogurt all over the couch? Will they remember how they watched TV all day for the 100th day in a row because I’m just really tired of fighting my brain?

What will they remember? Will Paul remember my smile, my laugh? It seems like it has been so long since he has seen or heard either, I’m not sure if he could remember it now.

So what am I doing? Sitting here. Writing it all down, as usual.

Feeling guilty for not being able to be a 24/7 woman.

I can’t do it all. It is okay that I can’t do it all. Reminding myself of that often is getting tiring too. I need this time.

I need this time to think. And to breathe. And to find my sanity.

I need this time so that they will remember me, if something were to happen to me. The happy me. The mom who hugs. The mom who chooses love. The mom who understands that those kids are people too. The wife who hugs. The wife who chooses love. The wife who understands husbands are people too.

I need this time to think straight to remember how important this life is. We get one shot. And I worry about so much that doesn’t matter. I worry about the grass being long because our neighbors have mowed theirs and now it looks atrocious. I worry about what to wear to an event that will last an hour. I worry about money. I worry about the fate of my homeschooled children. I worry about going anywhere outside of my comfort zone. I worry and worry and worry that I am yelling too much and not being enough for my kids. I worry about doing enough, being enough, if there is enough food, if there is enough laundry, if the house is clean enough, if I’m reading enough, if I’m listening enough.

But I am enough. I am enough. And what I am doing is enough.

Except for the smiling and laughing thing. I could do more of that.

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