balance

Feeling Inadequate or Mini Breakdown #43

Nothing like a good dose of reality when you come home from vacation to a shut off telephone (got the money/forgot the bill), an almost cancelled auto insurance policy (same scenario) and a household office that could be mistaken for a demolition site. You just gotta love my overflowing life.

As I mentioned in the earlier post, my husband missplaced (ok, lost) his driver’s license (which was a Missouri license with no record of a Maryland address, so the chances of it being returned to us are nil to mull), so he now has to get a Maryland license. Of course, to get a driver’s license, you have to have a social secuirty card and a birth certificate. Well, in a normal household where the household manager is organized and committed to accessible and convenient record keeping, this would be as easy as the fire proof safety deposit box, but in this case, Carol Brady doesn’t live here. I just don’t have it together like that. Not yet.

I admit it. The fact that I share with you some periodic wisdom from the trenches doesn’t mean that I don’t have issues. Big ones. Organization or the lack thereof is one of my really, REALLY big ones. Now even though it’s my husband’s license, you do understand I take total responsibility for not making this process as easy as getting in the car and heading to the DMV. Why, you ask? Because I neglected, rejected the idea of household administrator for a LONG time. I have the gift of administration, but I didn’t want to have to work at home like it was a job or a business. Pure laziness, idealism,feminism,delusions of grandeur…whatever you call it, I didn’t think being a wife and a mother was so much WORK!

I am so mad that I just didn’t adjust quickly or, better yet, that I didn’t adjust without a ton of emotions. Emotions. The brunt of my struggle. I’m just too doggone emotional which is why I sat down to write this post. I gotta pull myself together because my husband is not acting half as crazy as I am and it’s his license. I guess this is one commercial for why people need to be married and in complementing relationships, huh?

When stuff isn’t perfect (ok, perfect is my goal, but I’ll save that for another post…let’s just say “out of workable order” to be nice), I feel this twinge in the pit of my stomach and my head begins to pound. All I can hear are the voices that love to point out how absolutely ridiculous it is to try to have a smooth running, sane, safe household AND a personal life separate from husband and children. “There you go again. Living in that dream world. All of that big, positive thinking is nothing but horseradish.” (this is a family blog…I try not to swear unless it’s absolutely necessary, but you know bullshit would have fit so much better than horseradish).

Anyway, I don’t know why I beat up on myself so bad. It’s not like my house has ever been perfect and it has improved since I’ve accepted my role in administering and directing the flow of the Spence machine. I guess I go back to how I was successful and productive in an office for a paycheck and at home, I am frustrated, frazzled and not even sure if I’m having a nightmare or is it really 9 p.m. and I’m locked up in the bathroom trying to hide from the screaming baby or the nagging “I’m hungry” kids. Could I have taken a class on household managment or is therapy and prayer my only release?

Whew…I feel better just by venting with you, but I didn’t have time to write one post, let alone, two today. My husband has to order his birth certificate and it will take a minimum of 7 days to process the order. I have to get him off to work, keep the kids cool on an almost 100 degree day/no central air in the house, and since I started writing this post, the baby has been bathed, made to look so cute and is now playing in the toilet.

Gotta go.

Thanks for listening to me rant in the midst of Mini Breakdown #43 (yes, I’m crazy enough to count them, but I’m not sure if the number is totally accurate since I try not to count the ones that happen in the car, at the park, over the phone, while shopping…oh, forget it, the number is closer to 20043, but who’s counting?)

© 2006 DahGurl.