My Shit Ain’t All Together

“They tell me that turning 30 will be just fine and that eventually I’ll find my place in life, in this world.”

I had someone tell me one day while attempting to look busy to avoid conversation that I always look so put together. After I guffawed loudly I thanked her and went on to think to myself “If she only knew,” Let my Facebook, Instagram and even my Snapchat accounts tell it, I got it all together. My shit don’t stink and I know it. But behind those passwords and the very posed picture of my kids that I had to bribe all three of them with candy and false promises to Chuck E. Cheese to smile, are some broken pieces.

Let me be  honest here. I’m a 29 year old married mom of three kids that’s still on this “soul searching journey.” I currently have an extreme dislike for my job. My house is a mess and might smell like an old pull up if you catch us on the right day.  My marriage is barely making it because hey, we’re human, we have 3 small kids, and damn sure get on each other’s nerves. But before you even fix your lips to start that divorce rumor, just know it ain’t happening! And to top it all off I have real bad anxiety about being 30 in seven months and I still have no career, no formal education and still not making any earth moving money. Hell, I’m just past robbing Peter to pay Paul.

My days start at 5:10 a, well honestly 5:15 because I’ve hit snooze three times in a desperate attempt to get more “sleep.” I’m dragging myself to the shower, throw on some scrubs, make myself look at least a little decent and then on to my kids. Argh, at the ages of 7,5,and 2 getting them up and dressed can be a task when we have to be out of the house and in the car no later than 6:10 a. My oldest has somehow figured out the password for her tv and was up late watching God knows what. It takes me yelling for her to get up, along with a few threats. My 5 year old refuses to get himself dressed and is insistent that mommy does everything for him at 5:30 in the morning because he hasn’t had “enough rest” to do anything for himself. Then there’s the baby, the 2 year old who still sleeps with us in our bed. Yea, yea, I don’t want to hear it. Yes, I know he needs to be in his bed. Yes, I know that my husband and I need our “time.” Yes, I know it’s unhealthy. But listen here honey- I’m not trying to be parent of the year when it’s midnight and you just want the kid to go to sleep because 5am will be here as soon as I close my eyes  and the only way is if he’s in our bed.

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So, here I am at 5:45 a trying to get him ready and make sure he knows he has to use the “potty” today so that he can get a “happy bear”  which is really a handful of overly sweet gummy bears. By 6:00 a we’re in the kitchen arguing about which one gets the EXACT same hero shaped pop-tart. And God forbid I hand them out of their natural birthing order. It’s meltdowns times 3 that only cavity causing Capri-suns can fix. Yes, you can judge me for giving my kids juice in the morning but I haven’t had my coffee fix and don’t have the energy to actually parent at this time of the morning.

6:10 a we’re in the car and I’m forced to deal with my kids on the elementary school level because my son touched his sister and she swears he has cooties and now she can’t put on her seatbelt. All of this and the sun hasn’t even shined its rays yet. If I could speed and not get a ticket, I’d definitely do that so that I could get to the daycare to drop my boys off. Meltdown #2 has happened because my 5 yr old didn’t give me as many hugs as the 2 yr old and my God, I forgot it was bring a truck to school day and I am now the worst mommy ever. Shame on me. Back to the car I run because I have to get to Quiktrip to get my daily coffee. By now, my 7 year old is fully awake and is talking my head off. If my kid could enter into a talking contest, I promise you she would win. I mean the girl can talk. And rarely do I feel bad for my mind wanderings as I throw out a few “uh-huhs”, “oh reallys” and “omg, I can’t believe your friend did thats.”

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7:00 a and we’re at her school, I’m in the drop off line literally driving off as her last foot is hitting the pavement and I’m yelling “I love you!” Now, on to my hour drive, no wait, my hour sit in traffic across town to a job that I don’t even remotely enjoy but it helps makes the ends meet. So from 8:00-4:30, I’m plastered with a smile as I try my damnedest to keep my eye rolling to a bare minimum. Precisely at 4:30 p whatever is not done is left on my desk as is to be “tackled” for the next business day and I go rush only to sit in traffic for over a hour. While in traffic I can blast my music for 15 seconds as I Snapchat. You know so that I can be seen as “cool” or whatever.

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5:45 p I’ve made it home and met with a chorus of “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Followed by a regurgitation of the day’s events as my husband flips the channel to ESPN, because yes, apparently he has the luxury to watch tv. The fiasco we call dinner should be on daytime talk tv. Someone is bound to be unhappy with the night’s dinner choice and choose not to eat what I cooked and cry for cereal.

Our kitchen floor has seen better days, well cleaner days. My husband can never seem to remember to take out the trash and our kids somehow think that it’s ok to just dump more shit on top as they watch trash cascade down the can. But by this time I’ve been up a good 13 hours and the cares that I gave that day ran out about 4 hours ago.

Bath time! Oh what joy. Our 7 yr old daughter must think she has the body of a 200 lb high school football player because she uses up all the hot water every single night. Which forces the boys to take a bath together and they fight over who gets the red car in the tub. 20 minutes later, water is all on the floor. The red car is nowhere to be found and someone has eaten soap. Again. Where’s my husband you might ask?! Oh, he’s taking his usual 30 minute dump. His way of hiding and “enjoying” bath time with us.

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By the way, this is the summer because I would dare not attempt to write about our homework time. I told a white lie to a co-worker one time that my kid’s bedtime was 8:30-9. No, it’s more like 9:00-9:30  or later if I happen to pass out before them.

So, no it’s not all roses and rainbows over this way. It’s usually shitty pull-ups, pooped streaked Super Mario underwear, and my guest room that doubles as our laundry room. But they tell me that it gets better. They tell me that my kids will grow up. They tell me that turning 30 will be just fine and that eventually I’ll find my place in life, in this world. They tell me this is what it’s all about. But first, answer me this. Who is they? And would drinking anything stronger than coffee during the week make me an alcoholic?!  So, to the lady that so nicely told me that I always look put together, that is a lie. I just happen to pose really effectively. Ha!

~CeCe

Follow me on IG and Twitter @cece_cakez

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