Rewriting the List

Swamped. Overwhelmed. Underwater. Barely holding on.

In my small little inner world, those are the words that come to mind this evening. I've been falling farther and farther "behind" in the past few weeks, and at this point, there is no hope of "catching up." Not without a week, or two, all by myself, in my own house...and that's not in the cards at the moment.

On Friday morning, I had a big temper tantrum, and in the processing which followed, it became clear to me that my children have been in my way lately. My list of to-dos does not include them. It includes planning for them and cleaning around them and thinking about them, but not them. My list acknowledges their needs to be fed and to wear clean clothes and to live in a reasonably ordered home. It does not acknowledge their need for me to get down and play on the floor with them or to accept their tiredness as a sign that the day needs to take a different direction or to respond patiently when "Mama!" is uttered for the billionth time in an hour. No, those needs are not list-able. They are innumerable, but not listable, and thus not cross-out-able. I have felt the chaos of all this unexpectedness and have responded with cross frustration. Oh, failure.

The week ahead holds many challenges. I can see them from here, and I can see that I will not catch up this week. Or probably the next. And, realistically, I won't ever catch up. So why do I continue to put my emotional eggs in the basket of control and order? What is that definition of insanity again?

What I do know about this week is that, as far as I can tell, there will be seven days before it is Sunday evening again. Seven mornings, seven lunchtimes, seven afternoons, seven dinners, seven oh-so-short intervals after the kids go to bed. Seven twenty four hour periods in which I have the privilege and the challenge of being married to a wonderful man and mothering three gifts of children. Seven days of relationships. Wonder what a good list for this week ought to look like.