I woke up late. I spilled my kid’s MCT oil all over the carpet. We’re dressed and ready in 15 minutes flat. I get in the car, and of course, the low fuel light is glowing as if mocking me.
I nearly take out the garage door while backing out like I’m driving Wonder Woman’s invisible car. I’m not saying I was speeding, but my kid did make it to school on time. Just saying.
I didn’t have time to drink my gallon of coffee that morning, so I headed to the coffee shop. As I sit in line, I hear a strange whine coming from the car, which reminds me that I’m on low low fuel.
Before I continue, I need to make it known: my husband was the last one to drive my car. I am the queen of driving on low fuel, but only when I am in the car, when the light comes on. I know exactly how far I can push it. I hate getting fuel. Always have. It’s the biggest waste of time, driving out of your way just to stand there and watch numbers spin. No thanks. I’ll take my chances on the side of the road.
Anyway, I’m already in the coffee line, so I roll up to the window because if I’m going to be stranded on the side of the road, I’m doing it with a coffee in my hand. And since my husband brought it home empty, no matter what happens, it’s going to be his problem.
I get my coffee, promptly forget about the whining and the gas situation, and go to work like nothing ever happened.
Fast forward to school pickup time, and that little orange light is still glaring at me. My son, who believes “on time” actually means “five minutes early,” is already calling because he hasn’t seen my car pulling up yet. I get there just as he’s about to call again, and out of habit, I drive straight home.
At that point, we both decided it’s officially his dad’s problem now; he usually goes into town in the evening anyway. Problem solved. Wrong. It was still my problem the next morning!
You’d think that kind of chaos would be enough for one week, but no. Around here, if the week starts in chaos, it stays in chaos.
I absolutely love my job. I love everything about what I do. But just because I love it doesn’t mean I always have to like it. And last week I did not like it one bit.
Then it was Saturday. After a full day of running all over for work and trying to get my personal errands done, I found myself on my tile floor, drinking more coffee, three tablespoons deep in potting soil. (I’m just sure Delilah is trying to choke out Margaret.)
And yes, tablespoons, because I’m creative and a bit lazy, so I used a spoon to dig. And for you Judgey McJudgersons, know I’ve also used a soup ladle when I repot my plants. I’m resourceful, and not sorry.
Then my husband and I realized that it was daylight-saving time. Normally, not a big deal, right? You get an extra hour of sleep. Well, the conversation in my house went a little like this: “If tomorrow’s 8 a.m. is actually today’s 7 a.m., then we give meds at…?”
Remember the math I’m not a fan of? Let’s add time to that list as well. My son’s meds are a little sensitive, so we don’t have a lot of wiggling room. The 12-hour life span doesn’t care about daylight savings.
Anyway, so to make my life easier after an exhausting week, I decided I would just set my alarm for 6 a.m. and then figure out the times. It worked! But then I realized that to get our son back to his normal 8 a.m. schedule, which fits our day-to-day best, we have to move the meds back to 8 a.m., but only by fifteen minutes, every. single. day. More time math, ugh.
So this week is about it being ok to run on fumes, whether it’s your car, your energy, or your patience. Just don’t forget to refill, even if it’s just enough to make it through the day or enough for a full tank. Just don’t forget to refill, and don’t give up.
Next week might be about those little things you see that remind you of someone, so you just get it for them. Maybe they’ll like it, maybe they won’t, but it’s the “I was thinking of you” things. Who knows, stick around, and we will find out together. Just stick around, I want you here.
A tired mom, Liz
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