In The Weeds

I'm in the weeds. 

I saw a Facebook post the other day that said that, and I gave a big sigh of relief.
That's what I am. I'm in the weeds. 
I have been having a hard time putting into words how I'm feeling recently.
And that. is it.

Because I don't feel really overwhelmed or that I'm wasting my time.
I'm just in the weeds.

There's a dead fish on my counter. No, really. He's been dead for ::I'm so embarrassed to say this:: 5 days. I haven't flushed him yet. Partly because I haven't had time and partly because I don't know where on earth I will put all the crap that comes with a fish now, and partly because I don't feel like telling my kids that he is dead. Oh, Biggity Bop. Why now? What's worse is that he isn't floating. Aren't fish supposed to belly up? So I honestly forget he's dead until my kids ask me at lunch if I've fed him today.

I've attempted to save this fish twice. One time when I was cleaning out his bowl and he jumped right out of the spoon and straight into the garbage disposal. I debated flipping the switch then. But instead, I narrowed my hand down into the hole of the sink and felt around until he flopped back into my palm. Jerk, I thought. And again when I saw last Friday night that he might be on his last gill. I cleaned out his tank and swirled him around to give him a boost. He lived for about an hour after. Wah.

For about two weeks now I have been trying to put away laundry. At one time there were seven loads stashed around the house- se.ven.- on top of the dryer, on my closet floor, on my bed, and stored. in the dryer. I'm having a hard time. When the kids are awake, I'm not doing laundry. I'm just not, okay? I'm doing art projects and building rocket ships and certainly, definitely playing hide and seek. I'm not missing that business to fold and put away 324709857 items of clothing. But listen. When they are asleep- I can't put clothes away. Because they are in their rooms. What. am I supposed to do? Help me. Help me right now, because if I have to step over that pile of laundry again to get to my shoes- or dig through six piles to find a pair of socks for much longer-- I might just stop right in the middle of that pile and go to sleep for a few days.

If I start talking about the number of toys that I found in between our couch cushions yesterday I might pass out. And crumbs. Dear Heavenly Father, how do they get there? Where do the crumbs come from? I don't let our children eat in the living room, let alone on the couch. So I am wondering-- who is sneaking into my house and pouring what looks to be the bottom of a cereal bag in the crannies of my couch? I can't even.

So much has happened in the month that I've been MIA. A month. 
I'm so absolutely captivated by making seven thousand peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I can't complain. My kids are growing up and I'm tagging along with them. I'm trying to be better at paying attention. and putting the phone down. Turning the music up. Rolling the windows down and throwing my kids up into the air. I won't be able to lift them like this much longer. Their smiles won't always be as pure and as wide. I'm taking so many more mental pictures. At the end of the day, I'm soaked in spit up and swollen from hugs and deaf from cries and sticky with glue and exhausted from being touched all. day. I'm sore from smiling, my eyes are blurry from scanning every nook and cranny for where in the world the tiny little piece of that obnoxious toy went. (i found it. winning.) ((and... they lost it again)) I'm hungry because they thought my lunch looked delicious, and I can't teach them how to share if I don't share myself. I'm anxious to see my husband and embarrassed that when I picked Cham up from school she was wearing a spare pair of panties and sweatpants- in a teenager's size- an affect of having had an accident and also a mom who failed to pack her an extra set of clothes. Again.

I'm in the weeds. But my kids are the weeds, and they are growing up all around me.
And that, I can dig.

Until Next Time,
The Guff