I was going to write something about how I’m working on being in the same room as my kids while each are doing their own thing, you know, to show them we can be together, but I don’t need to facilitate their activities all of the time, that they can figure out how to occupy themselves on their own. Then the younger one spilled my entire 25oz water cup and they started fighting about watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. 

But I’m trying. Things just take a little longer. There are still days when I still feel like I can’t finish a single sentence, but there are other days when I can balance being with the boys and doing something for myself. Today, I wrote a few words, then dealt with a kid issue, then wrote a few more, then answered some questions, and so on. 

Full disclosure, it’s now a completely different day, and I’m coming back to this without having remembered the point of what I was going to write about, but I’m pretty sure it was about how having little kids means my brain doesn’t work the way I want it to anymore. Thoughts and ideas get fragmented. Finishing projects is difficult. (Side note: does this happen to men? Is this part of why women get so far behind in the workplace after having kids? If someone paid me for the number of pieces of toast I’ve made in the last week, I’d be rolling in dough (pun absolutely intended), but trying to be a force of nature in the workplace when my attention is DEMANDED every moment that both kids are in the house with me is impossible.) 

But regardless, I need to rediscover my hobbies. I can’t write or do something that requires my full attention when I’m also spending time with the boys, so I admit that this writing stuff is better suited for happening on my own time. However, I NEED to be able to do what I started off this post talking about, sitting in the same room as the boys but doing something else. I don’t need or want to watch Mickey Mouse or (good god) Captain Underpants, but I don’t mind cartoons being on while I read or do something with my hands. I don’t necessarily need to play with legos or be part of them chasing each other around the basement or whatever imaginative play they come up with, but I like to be nearby doing my own thing. This is something our family has NOT mastered yet. The little one thinks he needs to be on top of me half the time, and if the little one is doing it, the bigger one wants to as well. And then one will want a snack. And then the other will want a drink. And then the little one needs help on the potty. And on and on, and by the time all of that happens, I haven’t sat down for more than 4 minutes in an hour. 

Listen, this makes my kids sound like monsters, makes me seem like a pushover, and makes my husband seem not present. None of that is true. We just need to practice some self-reliance and get better at this so that everyone can have what they want within reason, starting with me saying no without losing my mind first or getting snappy. I also recognize that this is a season of life, and they won’t be little forever. Someday I’ll wish for hugs and snuggles and blah blah blah, I know. Moms of teenagers, I’m sorry for your loss of little kids. I am. But right now, that doesn’t help me, thinking about how they’re going to not even want me around in a few years. It just makes me want to crawl out of my own skin for being resentful of what’s happening RIGHT NOW. I can’t make these endless days feel good by guilting myself into being grateful. I don’t work like that. 

So I’m going to take deep breaths, maybe drink more coffee sometimes, and keep calmly explaining to them that I love them, and they can get their own snacks, and I’m going to be sitting here reading. Spidey/80s Spider-Man/Grizzly & the Lemmings can keep doing their things, but this Brandon Sanderson book isn’t going to re-read itself.