push-pull

Let me qualify the below by saying I KNOW how incredibly blessed I am. I know how easy my life is compared to so many others in the world. I have a roof. I have food. I KNOW. I am whining. I KNOW.

But damn, if some days aren't hard. Yesterday was hard.

Between M and the balance we need to work two full time jobs while only allowing her to spend part time in day care combined with laundry and figuring out what to eat and making an attempt to clean the house and being completely wrecked by my insanely high energy child who is into every single thing at every single minute like tonight when she ate a fairly large piece of paper and then cackled and hid under the table while chewing and swallowing....

while balancing a cell phone on one shoulder while I change a diaper while in conference call with important people discussing important problems and using my little finger to mute the phone every time M squeals so they don't catch on that I am not paying attention when I should be paying attention....

when I stop on the corner to give a panhandler my card and he tells me to go fuck myself, and I say if I could, I'd certainly be doing that instead of trying to talk to him, and while that cracked the facade briefly, it wasn't enough to convince him because he's stayed at one of the shelters at my agency and will never go back because we are assholes who don't care about the homeless....(ouch, brother)

while racing to read enough baby books and do bathtime and get her to bed on time so she can get enough sleep so we can start all over again....and then instead of doing something good for myself like god forbid exercise I fling myself in exhaustion on the couch..

i should perhaps join the circus. maybe they need another juggler. because god knows, if nothing else, I am a damn fine juggler.

And jugglers wear cute tights. And someone else puts their makeup on for them, right?

But clowns scare me.