Sometimes Mommy Needs A Timeout, Too. And A Pumpkin Spice Latte.

I am an individual that is always on the go. Between being a parent, being a good little domestic goddess, trying to be a good wife, and the demands of my line of work - I feel like I barely take time to sit down, sit still, and just relax. The truth is, I actually spend plenty of time sitting down. I spend a decent amount of time sitting still. But I don't think I actually spend enough time just relaxing. And when it comes down to it, I really only have myself to blame.

My husband tells me on enough occasions to "just relax". Usually it's in the midst of me doing something (like picking up around the house) that I insist must get done. Like NOW. And when he says this, I get all huffy and puffy and I mutter under my breath "you just relax". And I stomp around a little bit while I finish picking up around the house. I know, that's totally juvenile. And also not quite fair to him. Usually at that point I've hit my 'OCD and just can't stop' level. At that point, I won't be able to relax until the house is actually picked up and the other 6 things on my to-do list are complete. And even if I take some time to just physically STOP, my mind is still racing with all of the things I need to make sure get done. I know...I have issues.

I can admit it. Houston, we have a problem. I just don't know when to throw my hands up in the air and say "screw it". And sit down. And just relax. I need to find a way to work on this. If not for my sake, then for my husband's. That man has such patience with me (thank goodness).

I have this notion quite often -

I need to work on this

. It's usually a passing thought before I move on to the next task. But

I need to do more to

commit

to this

. Like start with a post-it note to my forehead that says "Chill The Eff Out!" And maybe also put post-it notes on my arms that say "Throw these up in the air and say screw it!"

Not too long after we had our son, I had an incident where I hit a level of stress that I'd never before imagined was possible. It could have also been my hormones, but regardless, it was ugly.  My husband told me to take a timeout. That made me hopping mad. But then I left the house, went to Starbucks, called my best friend, and took a timeout. I came home (with a better frame of mind), apologized to my dear hubby, and then thanked him.

I shouldn't let myself get to the point of such distress before I take a timeout. Sometimes Mommy needs a timeout, too. And that's ok. Sometimes Daddy needs a timeout, too. And that's ok. Preemptive and proactive timeouts are usually better for the whole family.

I am going to commit to taking more proactive timeouts.

Starting right now. With a Pumpkin Spice Latte. And "just relax".

Leaving On A Jet Plane

My job requires me to travel. Usually about once a month on average. Sometimes a little more than that now and again, but also sometimes a little less. I don't necessarily mind that this is an aspect of my job because I absolutely LOVE what I do. Even on the days when I think I'm about to go batshit crazy, I still absolutely love what I do. And the frequency is really not that bad. Not in comparison to my last job, at least. In my last job, I traveled about 75-90% of the month. Sometimes I would not see my apartment for weeks on end. And at the time, that was acceptable as my lifestyle. At the time.

Back then my husband was my boyfriend, our boy pup's parents were still pups themselves, and the concept that we would have a child in the near enough future never crossed my mind. The 'frequent flyer' lifestyle was a way of life. My life. And I wore it well. A lot has changed from then until now - all for the better, despite what some might think of the image I'm about to create in the next sentence. On any given day, I have toddler-gunk in my hair and on my clothes. The 'mom of a toddler' lifestyle is a way of life. My life. And I wear his gunk well. And proudly, for that matter.

So despite the less frequent work trips (in comparison to my true road warrior days), work trips still mean travel. Travel means not being home. Which in turn then means...

I miss hugging my men at the end of the work day. I miss getting frustrated because I can't pee alone. I miss hanging up my husband's belt because he leaves it on the counter (always). I miss getting kicked in the face in the middle of the night. I miss wondering "When did he even crawl into our bed? Thank goodness I didn't roll over him or accidentally push him off." (Umm, for the record, it has actually never happened. But I feel like we're playing against the odds at this point.) I miss the organized loving chaos of my household.

I especially miss these things right now because today I got on an airplane for work and I won't be home for a few days. And before I left, my husband told me that LJ carries around a picture of me when I'm gone. I'm not even sure what my facial expression said, but I smiled and said something like "Aww, that's so sweet." What really happened at that moment was that a piece of my heart was breaking. And I felt guilty. Guilty for leaving. Guilty for loving my job. Guilty for having a job. Guilty for the sky being blue today. I just felt guilty.

Nonetheless, I still got on the plane and went to work today. And I'll work each day here until I get to go home. I'll do a good job. Scratch that. I'll do a kick ass job.  I'll make the trip worth it. I'll make the time away from my men count. But I'll still feel guilty. And my heart won't be whole again until I can hug my men, pee with an audience, hang my husband's belt, and get kicked in the face in the middle of the night.

This definitely won't be my last post about the inner struggles of the traveling working mom. I tend to have some type of battle with myself - usually about once a month on average. Sometimes a little more than that now and again, but also sometimes a little less.

I Don't Understand My Kid - Episode 1

Aside from learning how the innocent, wondering and clever mind of a toddler works, as a parent I need to learn how the mind of MY toddler works! I'm learning a lot, but most of the results are inconclusive. I find myself baffled on a regular basis.

Take our couch pillows, for example. LJ is always throwing them over the couch and onto the floor. He doesn't want them anywhere near him. What does he have against our couch pillows?!?

Where were you when June 8th happened?

Kids,

It was June 8, 2007. I was living in Charlotte, NC. I went over to your Uncle JC's place where we played a few games of Asshole.

And then we had a few tiny cups of (umm...) "chocolate milk".

And then we went out for more "chocolate milk" and I danced the night away with your Uncle Mike.

And I was kissed by a gay guy.

And that, kids, is how I met your father.