It’s Day 1 of the 12 Days of Christmas Kindness — and Day 1 of Blogmas, which I’m super excited about as well. Today’s ‘mission’ wasn’t quite as exciting as I would have liked it to be, but we made due. I’ve had the craziest week at work, and stayed at the office a bit later than I probably should have before running off to pick up E from daycare. She and Ty were leaving shortly after work to go visit his parents for the night, so I knew I didn’t have much time. As most things go around here, Day 1 was rushed.
This year, we overspent on the lead up to the holiday – big time. It all started with a trip to IKEA which opened close to home recently (and, swoon… that place gives me all the heart eyes), and ended with me buying a new to me camera and Tyler finding a renewed love for woodworking (which has resulted in me getting some pretty sweet swag in the process, so I can’t complain). That, coupled with the fact that somehow my wish that the National Student Loans Service Centre forget I exist didn’t come true, means one thing: Christmas is going to be STARK this year (think: North of the Wall, for the Game of Thrones lovers).
If I’ve never explained this properly before, I’m currently working as an Articled Clerk. It’s a term that no one seems to understand (not even me). Sometimes we’re called Students-at-Law (which I personally feel is so much more bad-ass…). Articling is the one-year span following graduation from law school where graduates work with a “Principal” to complete our “articling checklists” before we take the bar course and write the bar examination and (hopefully, if all goes well), become a full-fledged lawyer. Essentially, it’s the “on the job training” component of our career, and it can be quite demanding by times. We have to complete particular tasks across certain areas of law (family law, criminal law, administrative law, etc.).
I posted earlier today on Instagram about how much I hate Sundays. They just feel like another Monday to me. Maybe even worse. For some reason we’re all perpetually cranky in this house on Sunday mornings. Today was no exception. I spent the first half of the day stewing, but managed to recover later in the day and ended up being super productive. We even spent some time at the library checking out books before we headed to the grocery store. [I asked my 4 year old what she’d rather do: go to the library or the park. Of course she picked the library. She’s a girl after my own heart].
This past summer, my 4-year-old turned to me while watching a parade with disgust all over her face. There was a man, on stilts, without a shirt. “Why is that man naked, Mommy?” She asked. I told her, without thinking “because boys don’t have to wear shirts”.
This stage of life is hard.
We rush from one activity to the next. We’re trying to advance in our careers while still maintaining some semblance of sanity. We’re never fully focused at work, always anticipating that call from daycare or school. The schooling we so carefully and expensively pursued has done nothing to prepare us for this. We’re living for the weekends, which turn into disorganized chaos because we’re all so used to routine. We try to strike a balance between planning and “living in the moment”, and end up with a terrible combination of both that makes Monday morning feel like a reprieve.
Anyone who knows me #IRL knows two things about me. Well, maybe three:
I’m terrible at cooking and meal planning in general;
I love bullet journalling; and,
I’m all about saving time, especially in the evenings.
There are certain pivotal moments in this life.
For me, one of those was the night I messaged you over Facebook shortly after my daughter was born, desperately seeking out someone who could understand what I was going through. It was late, and of course I was crying. I was seated in the brown armchair in my living room, struggling to entice a screaming newborn to settle enough to latch while my fiancé slept peacefully in our bedroom. I was full of rage and despair.
We’re all busy. And, if you’re anything like me, the busier life gets – the more Mom Guilt sneaks its way in. It’s a vicious cycle. My level of Mom Guilt rises exponentially, incidentally, during final exam season – which I find myself in the throes of, again.
(Disclaimer: I used to wear pajamas all day. I relish those days. If you’re able to wear your pajamas all day, I salute you. You’re a great Mom).
Toddlers demand a lot of attention. I remember when I thought babies demanded a lot of attention. Boy, was I wrong about that. Toddlers are mobile, sassy balls of energy, and they need to be handled accordingly. Even baby proofing has taken on an entirely new meaning these days (it should be called toddler proofing, but I digress).