most of the time, it’s not too bad. most days, i don’t quite manage to balance everything, but i think i have most of it in the right order. i can usually get in a few hours of work, color a picture or two, answer myriad questions about kitten brains and human rights and life and stars and religion. i find time to eat and clean and shower and pee, and most of us have mostly clean clothes most of the time. in between, i sneak a minute or two of snuggles wherever i can.
most of the time, i pull it off, or i’m damn good at faking it.
some days, though, it feels like i’m in a tiny cage, looking out at all the responsibility holding me there. i’m not a responsible person by nature. i don’t do well with schedules and bills and timelines. i’m the one in the back of the class goofing off and then throwing something together at the last minute, and most of the time, somehow, it works beautifully. it’s a struggle not to live that way, now. i tried, and it doesn’t work when there are little people depending on you for food and learning and clean underwear and i can’t stand for the toilet to be dirty or the sink to smell funky or for the clothes to sit too long before being folded. i can’t stand turning in half-ass work because i’m rushed, even if nobody else knows the difference.
most of the time, it works ok.
sometimes, though, doing it all by myself all the time crushes me until there’s nothing left at all, and i don’t know how i’m going to wake and do it again. and then, of course, i get all of the littles tucked away into their beds, and the last of the dishes are done up and the toilet lid is down because i’m terrified of accidental drownings, and somewhere around two in the morning the deadlines are met and i can crawl into bed and breathe, finally, and fall asleep wrapped in silence and comfort and grace, and in the morning i’ll pretend that i know how to do it again.