Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. Count to 10. Count to 100. Listen to my kids count to 100 by 5s, 10s, and 1s and try not to yell at them. Try not to yell. I am not a yeller, yet I’ve turned into a yeller. People tell me I’m amazing. They tell me my husband is one lucky man. Damn straight, he is one lucky man. He knows this; I am amazing, and I have been amazing my entire life. But I think I might be done being amazing. I might just be okay with being great or fine or even average.
Being grateful for one’s family, health, friendships and overall career happiness doesn’t have to be at odds with what I want for my birthday this year. I’ve asked those who share my address for one day of not being asked to locate something for someone. Doesn’t seem like a lot to ask, unless you are 5, 6, or 46 and your last name is Krill. I have maxed out this year at 42– the last bit of the perfectionism born within me back on Thanksgiving Day 1974 has died out this week I’m fairly certain.
“Mom, what did you do with my very important drawing I did last Tuesday and was shoved in the bottom of my backpack?”
Simple. I put it in the wood stove. Or, maybe I threw it in the garbage because not everything can be very important.
“Mom, where are my paper dolls that Gram gave me last year for the car ride when we went to Great Aunt Mary’s funeral- you know the time I got car sick and threw up on the high way?”
Um. I think maybe they had throw up on them so I threw them out.
“Mom, where is favorite puppy?”
Not sure. Open your eyes and look around. I don’t need him to sleep with, you do, so start looking!
“Heather, do you know where the replacement neoprene strap for my mono ski? My mom sewed me a new one last year.”
Nope, no idea.
“Mom, do you know where my special boulder is?”
The one you dragged out of the woods last week in your back pack? Or the one you found at the beach last summer? Yeah- no- no idea.
“Honey, do you know where my hat is?”
Which one of the 742 caps are you meaning to find? It is probably mixed in with your 12 pairs of ski pants.
People who knew me when I was little understood coloring outside the lines made me cry. A messy room stressed me out. My brother regularly questioned why I would vacuum for fun, rearrange the furniture in my room, or refold clothes I had already folded once. Fast forward to today, and I now have a friend who smells the milk in my fridge before pouring because no one can be quite sure. I would rather hike in the woods with my kids than do laundry; write at the kitchen table versus tending to the multitude of household chores; watch my new favorite show “This is Us” (on at 9 on Tuesdays NBC) instead of cleaning my bathroom.
Our home is filled with a loving husband, funny and wild children, a warm wood stove, and full refrigerator–that part can remain amazing, but I’m taking a break from being amazing. I’m grateful year around for our parents being in good health, and we adventure with them on a weekly basis. I love the town we are living in, and the school our children attend, the one I work in. You get my point. I am grateful for everything we have, and I’m not throwing in the towel of life, but I’m simply done being amazing.
Maybe it’s the snow pants which have pushed me over the edge this week– the fact that mine don’t actually fit my body; that Geoff has too many pairs living in our bedroom closet, and our kids wear them to school as part of their daily outer uniform now that snow is on the ground, adding approximately 12 minutes to the “getting out of the house and to school/work on time.”
Our door is always open, our floors are far from clean, and the chances are good there is something rotten in our fridge. Maybe tomorrow I will be amazing again.