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This blog serves as a collection of my thoughts on everyday life, challenges, fun-finds, pretty (cool) things, and parenthood with my (oftentimes, sarcastic) view on adulting, motherhood, marriage and being a struggling homemaker. 

I am F*cking Tired.

I am F*cking Tired.

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TWENTY-FOUR hours is never enough… Where does time go?

Please tell me you feel the same.

It is just about 8 pm, Frank walks through the door after what seems to have been another brutal day at work. He’s pale, eyes sunken and seems like he lost another few strands of hair at the top of his head. I see him. I feel his exhaustion… I am ashamed to admit it but, I am fucking tired.

He walks through the door. I am on the couch, serial-liking snaps on Instagram.  I feel a bit embarrassed, thinking I must look oh-so-relaxed vegging-out on my smart phone.  I am not a sight for sore eyes. I haven’t showered. The little kids are sleeping.  My teen is upstairs oblivious to the world outside his bedroom door. Out of courtesy, I muster the energy to ask him how his day went. Some days, the answer is “good”.  On others, the answer is “shitty” – then followed with a long story.

I try my best to seem interested but my mind, this mom-brain is still marching like an energizer bunny, with a running list of to-do's; “Did I forget anything at the store?”, “Wait, I forgot to call my mom back.”, “Oh yeah… and what are the kids’ schedules like tomorrow?”

I hope he did not notice me mentally jotting notes.

In turn, he asks me how my day was.  My answer,

Good, but I am fucking tired.

The air of negativity circulates us- my statement like a punch to his gut.  He sits at the table.  The kids and I ate dinner ahead, so leftovers await this poor, poor man; cold chicken, rice and vegetables half-eaten by the kids.  He doesn’t complain.

He asks, “Why? What did you do today?”  My looks are living proof that not much was accomplished.  Admittedly, there were days when I was still dressed in my ratty t-shirt from the night before.  My answer, “I don’t know.  Nothing!”

Now, don’t get me wrong, my day was not entirely miserable.  I am a stay at home mom.  I signed up for this, didn’t I? Days are filled with laughter, after a dozen emotional toddler breakdowns, warm smiles after wiping puddles of spilled milk, sloppy kisses with spaghetti lips, finger painting followed by a trail of hand stamps on my wall, poop between my fingernails, refereeing three attempted cat-fights, and lots of playtime, again and again right after I pack up an entire room-full of toys and scrape play-doh off the rug.

I mean, yes, I had a few moments to spare on Facebook.  I just don’t know where the time went.

Naturally as women, we are wired to overthink every miniscule detail of our lives.  This is an art I have so easily mastered and desperately need to shake. Add a husband, three kids and household staff to the mix.  You’ve got 6 human beings you need to over-think for; yourself not included. Do you think this adds to my mental exhaustion?

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Mundane, senseless, important and unimportant chatter in your head from the time the sun rises until you reach an REM state of mind (if you’re lucky enough to get there).

“What will I serve for breakfast?”  “I need to wake the kids up at 6:30.”

“Wait a minute, did I forget anything over the weekend that the kids need for school today?  OMG! I forgot the class potluck.  Ok, if I get the kids dressed, out the door by 8:30 I can run to the bakeshop and grab a box of empanadas and get them to school by 10.”

“Will I have time to get to the bank in between? Hmm… I might… Maybe I should write the check now… No, do it later."

Mental note: Place the checkbook in my bag for later.

“Ooh… a Facebook notification.  Aw, look she’s #blessed - Another #awesome weekend for her and the kiddos.”  How sweet."

Yes, a typical 1-minute morning conversation I have with… myself!  “Nikki, meet Nikki.  She’s only half crazy.”

“It is 7:30 am and I need a nap!”

I finally get the kids to school, but not before an argument with at least one snot-faced child in the morning about breakfast, bath time, school uniforms or outfits.  These, my friends are the moments I wish they could temporarily transform into robots then move and speak only at my command.

I rush back home to tidy the storm we call morning.

“Wait, I didn’t pack any peanut products in the girl’s lunch bag, did I?”

“Ok, Doctor. Yes! Where’s my phone?  I need to note Alex’s appointment next week.”

“Oh and milk, we are out of milk…. And wait do I have leftovers to serve for lunch?”

“What about dinner?”

“Shit! I am out of cash I need to head to the bank!  Did I transfer the funds for the checks we issued last week? Yes, ok. Checkbook is in my bag.”

“Frank needs his cholesterol medication. Raul’s soccer dues are due tomorrow…  I wonder if he was up all night on Skype again.”

“Did I pay the electric bill?  I paid it.  Why do I have a disconnection notice?”

“I really need to visit the dermatologist.  These zits are insane.”

Nikki’s To Do List:

-       Carla’s baby shower gift.

-       Make list of shower games.

-       Order dessert

-       Frank’s quinoa (Wait, what?)

“I need to withdraw funds to cover Mary Jane’s salary advance. She paid-off her last advance, didn’t she?”

I really should be writing things down.

I know. I knooow!  It is completely my intention to do so.  But tell me how to grab a pen and paper whilst driving, taking a shower or when on the toilet taking a dump!  God-forbid any of my kids need to run in a panic looking for a scratch pad for my running list.

Just as my memory slowly creeps back, the phone rings.  It’s Beth.  She is depressed.  Her child hasn’t slept in days.  Her breast milk supply is slowing down. Her nipples are sore. She can’t stop bitching about her husband and her Nanny was apparently caught giving her family driver a bl* job.  I try to muster enough words to console her.  

“Aw man… Yeah, life sucks sometimes.  It will pass.  Take a nap.  Drink vitamins.  Your poor husband will understand that you’re exhausted because of the new baby.  It will all be fine.”

Typical day.  It’s lunchtime. 2/3 kids are now home.

I seriously need a nap.

The moment I became a wife, my mind shifted from me to we.  I gave birth to our first child 14 years ago, long before the term mom-brain existed. It crept in, then BOOM!  Hundreds of thousands of brain cells dissolved and I was left with what felt like a smaller brain capacity but with more lives to consider. This happened again and again until we became a family of five.

Full-time working moms, how do you do it?  How do you keep your shit together?  What is your secret?

Shout out to all women in corporate who strive so hard to have it all; raise good kids, earn a paycheck, keep your marriage in check all while looking like a million bucks? Certainly you have your off-days, but how do you survive without shooting yourself on the foot just to find an excuse to call in sick?

It is what it is.  I am who I am. It is all the small things. Piling up; emotional, miniscule, nonsense, dangerous, malicious emotionally draining. I keep reminding myself that more often than not,  it is all in my head.  I have absolute control where I choose to direct my energy,

So today I will give myself this; 

I did a shit load.

I gave my best and I am deserving of rest...

How about you?
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You'll be Owl-Right Sandwich

You'll be Owl-Right Sandwich

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