Saturday, January 25, 2014

Old Dog, New Tricks

Dear Little M (I mean, Mzzzzz President, as you prefer to be called),

Your old mama bear is tired.  Bone tired.  Weary and achy and just.....tired.

I never thought this day would come.  I guess I thought my neurotic energy was boundless.

Guess what?  The old grey mare just ain't what she used to be.  If you are anywhere near as smart as I think you just might be, you will be exploiting this to its maximum potential.  Seriously.  You should benefit from some serious upside from this level of exhaustion.

This doesn't mean you're getting a dog, by the way. I'm tired, but I'm not crazy enough to take on the responsibility to care for another living thing.  By all means, however, you should keep on keepin' on with the full court press.  Naming the puppy was a nice touch.  Masterful move, actually.  Roxy is a very cute puppy name, and the "Welcome to the Family, Roxy!" sign was roughly the equivalent of packing a U-Haul for your mama's guilt trip.

Why do I have a sinking suspicion that we're getting a dog?!?!?!?!?

That sound you hear is me wailing....probably in the location where we'll put Roxy's water bowl.

The timing of this exhaustion could not be any worse.  I need every ounce of energy I can find right now, and the gallon of coffee I'm drinking each day just isn't cutting it.  I'm sort of in the middle of a perfect storm where everything is a top priority and nothing's gonna give.   I really don't even want any of it to give...most of what is on my plate right now is good stuff.  I figure that in a year, I will either reflect on this time as some period of remarkable personal growth....or it's going to fucking kill me:)  Let's hope it's the former.  (and let's not pretend that you've never heard, or for that matter, never said the F bomb.  Child, please.  You're my kid. )

What's killing me is that I'm terrified of any of it.  I'm not making the following statement to be immodest--in fact, it's the exact opposite. I'm making the statement to explain the neurosis.  I made it this far in life without really failing at anything I cared about or tried for...and I'm not sure what will become of me when that day finally comes. I'm not sure who I will be when that day comes.  That day is coming.  I know it.

**And let's be clear...I'm absolutely certain that part of the reason I didn't fail was directly attributable to my fear of failing.  I'm so abnormally stubborn that I'd rather die trying than fail.  I'm kinda thinking that I missed some valuable life lessons here.

***And, also, let's also be clear that I know suck at lots of things.  I was a miserable athlete.  There's a valid reason  why  kids who were absent got picked before me to be on gym class teams.  I got my nose broken in a self-defense class, for beans' sake.  I sucked really hard at piano.  I can't draw for shit, I burn water, I couldn't do a forward roll if there was a gun to my head, and I hang pictures on thumbtacks because I'd probably lose a thumb if I wielded a hammer.  But....I knew I that these weren't my things, so I wasn't bent when I failed at them.

It really doesn't help that I define failure as anything that's less than perfect.  You are talking to someone who once dropped a class that I was taking for fun well after I graduated... because I got a 90 on the first exam and I didn't want a grade like that on my PERMANENT RECORD.

Seriously, if you ever get threatened with a PERMANENT RECORD in an academic institution, I will yank you out and place you in another school so fast your head will spin.  

I hope you're nothing like me in this respect.  I want you to give reasonable best efforts toward things you care about, and if the outcome isn't what you be it.  Your mama and daddy will love you anyway.  

I'm stumbling toward one of the coolest things about being a parent...having a little person really helps put new perspective on your own life.    I'd want to be your mama and I'd be proud to be your mama without regard to how much you succeed or how badly you fail at things....though I also know that I'd be a little extra proud if you succeeded after a setback.

Hmmmm.  This might just apply to me, too.

So, maybe in a series of weeks (okay, months)-- where I'm doing a new job (where everyone who preceded me more or less failed) while still doing my old job, and you're bummed that I can't play with you on snow days because both of those jobs are blowing up at the same time and you're tired of watching Tangled on DVD, and that for all my trips to assist on a family medical matter, I'm not helping as much as is needed, and I want to work with you to raise 20,000 lbs of food and I'm feeling guilty as hell that I'm exhausted beyond recognition doing nothing right at all- I'm ready for a slightly modified perspective.

Let's give it all our best shot and hope for the best.  Let's realize that success isn't perfection but instead is consistent forward progress, no matter the size of the steps.  

Yeah.  Let's do that.  Right after I drink a bottle of red wine, order some shoes online, and sleep for 12 hours;)

Oh, and the cumulative weigh-in of basement food is 536 pounds.  Progress.  The goal of having 1,000 pounds to donate to the Kennett Food Cupboard by February 7th is well within reach (and only 19,000 pounds to go after that!)


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