Tuesday, July 26, 2016

I just totally depressed myself while trying to be funny.

Here is an email exchange that just happened between my husband and me:

Chris: Got you this

(link to beer that I like)

Me: Thanks! Let's try to stay up tonight and hang out. We can look at the bookshelves I pinned on pinterest. 

Yeah...um...so that is what is going on with us. I feel like we are literally the most tired people in Philadelphia. I just pass the fuck out every night at 8pm.  Chris does a little better than me, but not much. Every day I have all these big plans to stay awake after the kids are asleep and do important things like paint my nails or read a book and I just CAN'T.

I was so tired on Wednesday, yet I wanted to go downstairs SOOO BAD after June went to sleep, but my body just felt like a huge bag of hot bricks. I wanted to cry because I was so mad that I was so tired, but I was too tired to even cry. So I just fell asleep. Then apparently June was crying in the middle of the night and I sat up and yelled, "There is a baby crying outside!"  and fell back to sleep, and did not check on her. LMAO.

Is this normal, or do you think there is something wrong with me? I only have 2 kids, and they both sleep through the night from 8pm-6am ( June wakes up at 2am every once in a while as mentioned above, but she goes right back to sleep.)  I think the monotony of the week really gets to me, but we have to be really scheduled or else i don't think we will survive life.  I'm finally like, at this point where something has got to give... and I think it's going to be my living room.

I do clean for 2-3 hours every Saturday morning, but l.by the time I am done 3 hours later it doesn't look like I even did anything!  I just do basic dusting, vacuum, mopping, 2 weeks ago I did get to some base boards but like ughh...I'm just failing at keeping the house immaculate and it is driving me bonkers. I have three siblings, and growing up our house was always spotless, my bed was always made, we always had clean laundry the day after we wore something. Now, my mom was a stay at home mom so I know that probably makes a big difference in how we run our houses, but like, I just want to do better. I will add though, that I do get many compliments on how clean my house is, however, I know the truth. MUHAHAHAA.

Also you know what else sucks?  39 year old beauty maintenance. That is also too much work. I've never had to worry about my skin/complexion, or saggy boobs, I have weird stomach bloating issues, gray hairs keep popping up in places that I didn't even know existed.

Spicy/fried food really bothers me now. Sometimes I feel like my stomach is literally on fire and like I have to chase a 14 month old around my house, I can never take a nap or lay down. I have all this wrinkle stuff and special underwear to make my boobs look perky and my stomach flat, so I can fit into my pre-baby clothes that I will never wear in public again.

I wear more make up now than I ever have in my life, even though I try to make it look like I'm not wearing a lot of make up. I'm keeping my hair long because I think I look younger so I have to like curl it and blow dry and all that crap. I have to color it all the time because as I said GRAY ( well actually it is a very nice silver) but you know you get the idea. Coloring my hair isn't for fun.!

I don't want to be 22 again at all, (or if I was going to be 22 I would want to be 39 year old me at 22) but I just want the same energy and perkiness, combined with my impressive wisdom and wit that I have gained in my old age.

I want Georgia and June to be interesting. To read wonderful, challenging books. To play music. I hope they will become thoughtful, yet critical thinkers. I want them to be confident.  Even if their opinions are drastically different than my own, I don't want them stuck living in the small towns of their own minds. I want them to think big picture, and dream big picture, and live big picture.

I don't know how to help them. I don't know how to be a good mom. I don't know how to not get caught up in my own dreams for them. I want to do everything right for them, even though I already know I've messed up.

I don't want Georgia and June to be 39 years old,  writing a blog about how they fail to keep their house clean. I want them to be 39 years old writing a blog about that time they tried (and failed?) to climb Mount Everest. Whatever their Mount Everest is.