Friday, January 29, 2016

January Joy

I’ll admit, I’m having a bit of a rough month.  January and February are like that for me; the days are short, tax season is looming, and the gleeful anticipation of the holidays are behind us.  What do we have to look forward to?  Spring break.  In APRIL.  Lord, help me.

These are the months in which I most struggle with self image.  I startle myself every time I catch a glimpse in the mirror.  Who is this wrinkled, wrung-out, pudgy woman?  Why is she so pale?  What is wrong with her hair?  As my pots of makeup and jars of potions on the bathroom counter increase in number and their effects on my visage decrease, as it gets more and more difficult to gain strength and maintain fitness (not to mention lose my spare tire), as my breasts sag and my hips stubbornly refuse to slim, I am realizing that Sisyphus is my spirit animal (spirit Greek myth?  Is that a thing?  I’m making it a thing.)  Push that boulder of self-hatred, self-doubt, and negative self-image up the hill.  Let it roll back down, feel free for a minute or two, pick it back up and roll it again.
It’s not healthy, so I’m focusing on counting my blessings, as one does.  I’ve also come up with a new strategy: instead of photos like this, where it’s obvious that I didn’t get enough sleep the night before and I had a hideously large mimosa with brunch…

At the Seattle Opera last Sunday

…I’m going to surround myself with photos like this, in which I look fabulous:

Taken at an auction in November

We’re not sleeping because Prince Frederick is a fucking tyrant.  Tony and I took the side off of Freddie’s crib a couple of weeks ago in the hopes that he would sleep in it.  Not like, sleep more in his crib, but sleep at all in his crib.  After two weeks of feeling so tired that I probably shouldn’t have been driving, we have relented.  My philosophy with regards to my children has always been “I get to win,” but not this time.  This time, Freddie wins.  Freddie sleeps with us and will likely do so until he has all his teeth.  His mouth is in no hurry to develop, so that could be until he’s six years old or so.  My guess is that, at this rate, he’ll get his last baby tooth when he loses his first baby tooth.

Yep, that’s my bed.

Okay, so maybe it’s not helping my mood that one of my “strengths” is hyperbole. 

Right before the popcorn fight that resulted in popcorn EVERYWHERE, including the goddamn light fixture

The bigger kids are getting busier all the time.  We are invited to a minimum of two birthday parties a month, they take ninja gymnastics classes each Saturday, they have swim lessons twice a week for the next two months, and they still expect to be fed three meals every. damn. day.  In addition to my normal workload at the office, I went ahead and built myself another (unpaid) job by organizing a much-needed after-school program at Charles’s elementary school.  And when I get free time, I like to… ha ha ha ha ha!  I have no free time.

Ninjas climb ropes at lightning speed.

Trite as it is, these kids are worth the stress.  Some days, they’re like three small Tyrannosaurus Rexes, eating their way through the cupboards, fridge, and freezer, leaving a swath of destruction in their path.  Other days, they are sweet as sugar, playing nicely together, building elaborate train tracks or fighting imaginary foes as a team.

All in all, January was filled with joy.

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