Our life never ceases to amaze and awe my therapist and strangers eavesdropping. This week has been an Oscar winning 15 ring circus with a side show of high drama theater.
In my own version of survival mode, I choose to focus on the humorous side of events rather than the ones that are so seemingly stressful. If I were to share the stress, I've been told it will cause people to take a very long pause. That being said, this week has been a test of my patience and emotional stability.
I never wanted to be a super hero or seen as one of those people who have to do everything. And while I've been accused of something akin to that with the odd spin that I relish in controlling others health… I promise I only want to help and advocate when needed. Quite honestly I've been waving the surrender flag for a while now and the only thing that seems to surrender is my cute curves from my 20s. Otherwise I keep getting passed over for promotion to easy breezy lemon squeezey.
This week is thank goodness over, almost. Other than writing with my eyes as slits to help me be able to focus on this screen, alls peachy. But let me tell you…
Tuesday was a day that should either be in a movie or part of some comedy act because otherwise it's just too heavy… literally and figuratively. We had a very detailed visit with my husband's doctor who laid out the aggressive treatment plan. My husband is a true warrior. Good thing cancer is stupid because my husband is brilliant. This was followed by an emotionally restorative nap. Followed up with me co "coaching" my daughters indoor soccer team (read yell like a happy maniac from the side and wait for my friend to tell me what to do). I'm pretty good at whooping and cheering but if we're being honest? I have no business having the word coach anywhere near me. I'm the perky police, that's my job. So we win this take us to the cleaners game thanks to the powerhouse that are our girls. Go Benchwarmers!
I drove home acutely aware of the meal I attempted to make pregame… are the noodles gummy? Is the sauce burned? Should we just have hot tamales and m&ms instead for dinner? Turns out nobody wants it. My husband managed a tiny bit, the leftovers remain in the fridge to this day… that is 4 days later.
So after determining no one is eating my overcooked Trader Joe's master disaster, I decide that 8pm is a great time to start cleaning on the pantry. I find cans from 1812, until I find my glasses and see 2017… I find a big outdoor garbage bag and toss in expired soups and snacks and baking items and ransom unidentifiable options. When I'm done the pantry is a barren dessert of empty storage containers and Ensures.
I'm so proud of myself to have fit it all into one big lawn bag. The slogan song 🎶 Hefty Hefty Hefty 🎶 begins to jangle in my ear. Until, I try to move the bag. I get it the mere inches to the open door to the garage and… The sides start streeeetching and the follow up verse hits my frontal cortex 🎶whimpy whimpy whimpy🎶. I quickly softly drop the bag. And go grab another lawn bag. Because double baggings a good idea right? Someone cue the whomp whomp whomp.
Trying to put the newly retrieved lawn bag around the one laden with all the pantry discards is akin to trying to push a beached whale back into a kiddie pool. It didn't really work. Probably should have asked for help at this juncture, but didn't want to bother anyone when "I've got this". Friends I did not got this. I never was even close.
After I wrangle the one bag "into" the other… read smoosh them together without much support or success. I open the garage door and try to lift the double bagged whale to the outside. Cue dogs. Who come running to the opened door. Claws slicing into the hardwood floors like Michelin tires in a race. I tumble forward, over the bag and run on my shins up the three steps to close the door to the kitchen. All the while yelling something at them. Dunno what it was.
Ok so the garage is up. My husbands vehicle is just outside the door facing the enclosure for the garage can. Heaven forbid the HOA allow for easily accessible trash disposal. I lift the bag using my legs in the lift. Unfortunately the whimpy in the bag begins to take the lead and I feel canned pumpkin hit my big toe. So I put the mega bag down. I squeeze between the front of the jeep, the hose hider, and the basket ball hoop to reach the wooden enclosure. Trash can is wheeled out and I get it as close as I can to the bag. Opening the lid I return to the bag and attempt to lift it. Rip, thud two more items fall out. I wonder how many of my family members are now watching me on the ring camera trying to wrangle this mess. My mama instincts kick in and I try to lift the bag like it's a small child. Planning to cradle it in my arms. It moves like a wet baby. You know like in those baptism videos where the priest almost drops them into the water? This bag takes on the lift of a wet baby wiggling and I fight for traction. And I lose. There's absolutely no hefty to these stupid bags. They're probably made of repurposed grass clippings or something.
The bags rip into several pieces and the inners scatter like a family sized bag of skittles dropping to the ground. Cans roll down the incline driveway, underneath both vehicles, back into the garage. When all is said and done, one yes 1 item remains in the double bag of craptastic lawn bags. I back my way into a stack of chairs. Tears brimming in my eyes. My breath catching around my heart and clogs up my throat. I allow myself a few tears and choice words. And then seeing as it's hindering my oxygen intake, I instead to treat the fallen trash like a rage room.
I'm honestly surprised no one from my family witnessed this debacle of mine. Or a neighbor. A passersby. Or maybe they did, and just shielded their eyes. I thought this was the max out of my day. Frustrated with the chaos tornado in around me, it's time for bed.
I read to my son by kindle light. And enjoy the gentle sound of his sleepy breaths. I kiss him good night, ever grateful for the family we have created. I whisper good night, say good bye to the dogs…
And then I have a fate worse than legos vs bare feet. It's a sea of beyblades that attack my soles. "Mother of God" I cry as I stumble across them. Now everyone is awake. Tears again brimming my eyes. I hobble out the door, spot the blood from my foot and decide it's best to call it a night.
My sweet daughter says "you've had a rough day, you should just go to bed". How right she is. And as I hobble around for the next few days I'm reminded of the love of a family and how even in the most painful of moments, they are salve to the soul. And that is what helps me keep my sanity.
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