I was a reasonably sane person before I was married.
I was still fairly reasonable before the children.
Now I am totally insane.
The good kind of sane, not the kind that sends you to the loony bin in those snappy looking white shirts with the long, lockable sleeves.
I used to be punctual. Now I'm a raving lunatic convinced that the space/time continuum is out to get me, and that my husband and kids were put on this earth to make me late for everything. And now that I'm older, my own body betrays me with last minute potty stops.
I used to be organized. Sort of. Let's just say I knew what stuff was in what pile. Now I'm dealing with people who have no clue how to put back scissors, tape, or my favorite pen, and don't have an inking of it's current place of residence.
I used to be able to sleep. You know, the kind of deep sleep that couldn't be roused by an earthquake. Now that i have kids, if I can't hear them breathing from the other side of the house, I wake up in a panic.
Any slight noise (including 'nightly noxious emissions of a gaseous nature') will rouse me, wondering if an ax murderer came into the house- and if I should tell my husband to go check whilst armed in his tidy-whiteys.
Yeah- that will scare off an ax murderer- especially if my husband hasn't had his 'nightly noxious emissions' yet.
I used to be able to eat. Okay, I can still eat (quite a lot, actually), but it's what I eat and how I eat that's changed. No more leisurely munching on breakfast and reading a book; I have a husband and kids now, and my morning is spent cooking breakfast, making twenty-thirds for my son, and then sitting down to a meal of cold eggs and warm iced tea.
Either that or I have to forage for something I can wolf down in 2.3 seconds, because some emergency came up- or my husband made family plans that require us to be up on a Saturday at the crack of dark.
I used to have a schedule. I still do (sort of), but now there is a lot more space for scribbling out and rewriting stuff because the family doesn't tell me anything until the last minute. Like half-days at school, overtime at work, and certain people inviting fifteen-hundred friends over for dinner- and all I have is a brick of cheese and two eggs. Oh, and they'll be here in fifteen minutes.
I used to have a clean house. Now I have a 'drop zone' of school bags, work belts and totes filled with church sheet music littering my recently cleaned floor. Off come the shoes and socks, scattered liberally about the living room like confetti at a wedding as they head for the nice clean kitchen to get a very messy snack.
Coats never go in the closet- they are now re-purposed furniture coverings that the cats also deem as 'their new favorite sleeping spot'- and therefore irremovable because these little animals have the ability to become liquid and refuse to get off of them. Cats also contribute their fur to help insulate the rugs and furniture, and the only way to remove it is through a paint roller covered in double-sided duct tape. Or burn the house down.
So why does all of this come to the self-diagnosis that I'm insane? Because I wouldn't have it any other way.
I love these messy people that make me late. I love the cats and their purrs- even as they steal my food right out of my fingers. Who else but an insane person would put up with all that- and still be happy?
Okay, not always happy when in the middle of it, but when I get a chance to breathe....you get the idea.
I had it, I lost it, and yet....I've still got it- and it's better than ever!
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