Balancing it all.

The kid needs his shots; his nose is running; why won’t he stop pulling at his ears? I need a shower; the laundry is out of control; what’s that you say, you want something prepared for dinner? Oh, you don’t want something prepared; you just liked it when you would walk through the door and there was something prepared for dinner. I liked it too. Let’s have toast, shall we? Oh, but the report is due; would you send this one quick email; I need that by the end of the day yesterday. You look tired. I AM tired.

I spend a lot of time these days contemplating how to balance it all. But you know what? I don’t think it’s possible.

I recently wrote this in an email (I’m so sick of email): I’m tired. My brain is tired. I feel mildly pathetic.  Like a giant wimp in need of a fireplace, a warm blanket, a cup of tea. Alas. Click clack click clack, just keep typing.

What a sad, sad state. Mildly pathetic, yes. Tired, yes. But also rather sad. Those are not the words of a gal on top of her game, grabbing her world by the reins and parading forward. They’re more akin to a Captain Wimpy Pants, tossed onto a rollercoaster that’s screaming down the tracks, out of control.

So how do I right the sheep? Nope, not the sheep. The ship. That was not intentional.

Do you see what I mean? Mildly pathetic. Though righting sheep is a novel concept. (Okay, so mildly pathetic with a bit of insanity thrown in for good measure.)

But really, what do I do? How do I carve out time to focus on the stuff that really matters while simultaneously remembering to forget about the stuff that doesn’t (remembering to forget? Yep, that’s what I’m looking to do. What? Mildly pathetic. Aaaaaand we’re back)?

Steps to achieve the goal:

1. Write. It sounds counterintuitive, because by nature writing is a drawn-out process, but this drawn-out process is soothing to me and helps me sort through the details, prioritize the prioritizable (huh?).

2. Breathe. Take five minutes when it feels like I have zero minutes, and breathe. Okay, breathe for about thirty seconds, but take that time to remember that all of these minor emergencies I have concocted in my mind are so far from emergencies it’s silly. Approach things in a thought-out manner, rather than in crazy lady mode. It can be done.

3. Laugh. Laugh at the craziness. Laughter soothes, laughter heals, laughter invigorates. Just do it: laugh. It serves as a magnificent reminder that life is nothing more than a series of crazy moments; what we control is our reaction. Laugh. You will never regret it (unless you laugh at an inappropriate time in an inappropriate setting – but even then, you’ll look back on it some day…and laugh).

I think that’s all for now. This space has taken on a pattern of lists of three, and I like it. Short, to the point, concise (there you are, another list of three).

Balance begins within. Mom balance is fed by coffee, chocolate, and laughter, with a side of yoga, runs, and wine. It all circles around a wee little man – at times a large contributor to the imbalance – without whom nothing would be complete. Breathe, Kara, breathe.

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