So here’s how today’s going.
It’s picture day at Preschool. School starts at 9:00 am. I think my daughter woke up this morning, sniffed the air and realized this was her chance. Hmmm…. pictures mean I’m supposed to look nice and we should be on time to school. I have power and I’m going to use it!
So it started with dragging feet eating breakfast….(she refused).
Then we moved on to getting dressed. As I’m desperately trying to answer an email (for the 3rd time), my haze of concentration is interrupted by a sound I’ve come to dread at times:
Maaw Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (my name is mommy, you know). I need helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllp!
So I go upstairs to help her. I find a shirt.
No! I don’t WANT to wear that! Fit ensues. I leave her sitting on her floor with her underwear half pulled down with a big old shart in them. I wonder what’s happening to my carpet underneath her writhing, naked body.
I take deep breaths. Time out for me. My last nerve is shot and I’m about to lose it, too. At this point I’m starting to not care whether or not she wears shart pants to school.
Things aren’t getting any better. We’re so close. About 3 feet from the front door, actually. But she’s not having any of it and is alternating between dramatically throwing herself on stairs and planting herself like a barnacle that won’t budge unless scraped or beaten. I consider the beating for a second but then go for scraping and haul her (still screeching) toward the car.
Phew, she’s at least buckled in and trapped now so I move on to my son in his car seat. This is where I see he’s got a big booger pasted to the top of his nose. My quick “wipe” with my fingers doesn’t work and now he’s howling too because I wiped too hard.
Sweet Moses. We won’t even talk about how I look. Teeth not brushed, shirt covered in old paint, no shower. I thank God for hats and get all the car doors shut before one of the neighbors calls CPS.
We make it into the building (she’s still bawling). At least at preschool I’m more likely to get the sympathetic mom glance instead of the stink eye from strangers watching your kid turn into the Hulk.
Now she won’t wash her hands before class. It’s tantrum 102 time and we’ve moved on to classic fist pumping and feet stomping and super scowly, angry face.
She’s still doing all that and I leave her in the school bathroom with her teacher and go drop my son off.
I’m driving now and silently praying…..
“God, help me! Make her stop! It’s school pictures day. She can’t look like that in school pictures!”
I knew we might not order any of these pictures anyway, but I still felt defeated knowing this morning would be etched in her face forever documented in the class picture.
God stills my heart and asks me why I take all these pictures anyway?
I consider. Well, the ones you see on this blog today I took so my husband would feel sorry for me later when he asks me how my day went. And the ones for school? Well, I guess those are to document her life at school.
Real life? Or pretend life?, He asks.
My heart surrenders. Why do I spend so much time trying to make everything look perfect when it clearly isn’t? Sigh.
This is what life really looks like. It’s a lot of ordinary. Some days are punctuated with laughter and joy and others with tears, frustration and puffy faces.
So the takeaway here? Apparently I need to relax and spend less time trying to carefully edit the parts of my life others see. I’m not sure I’m really fooling anyone anyway, and it’s exhausting! This is life. This is what life is really like. It may not always look good, but life is good and I’m going to own it. Puffy faced pictures and all.