D'sheveled. Makes it seem French. Like for all people know, in French it means D'sheveled: being in a state of glamour and wealth, a socialite. In plain English it means: HOT MESS.
I used to have it together. I mean like really together. I knew when I had appointments that were 6 months out. I knew my husbands social security number by heart, clipped coupons and knew where I stashed them, and could recite the address of everyone I knew. Then, I gave birth. Just like that, my memory (along with my nice boobs, patience, energy, ability to multi-task) went down the proverbial drain. Gone, never to be seen again.
Now if you don't have time to read this because you have it all together, I won't take offense. I mean, I probably won't call you my friend, but you won't know, because you didn't read this anyways. For the rest of you, you know who you are, the ones sitting on the computer with the following windows opened: Pinterest, Facebook, People, Target, Amazon, and some random girls blog about how to cook 40 meals for less than $25. You are my kind of crowd. Stay where you are, not like you were going to get up anyways.
Where was I? See what I mean? D'sheveled. Oh right, I gave birth to my first child and I lost the ability to have control over my life. It started slow. Like maybe I forgot that it was Sunday, not Saturday. Or perhaps that I already had a case of toilet paper when I headed to the store. Oh who are we kidding, I meant beer. But those things I can live with. After all, you can't have too much beer. Then as time passed it worsened. 'Honey, we are having lasagna tonight'....'Just kidding (throwing pot of half boiled water into the sink), I forgot the damn ricotta'. That became a standard. Living my life just one ingredient shy of any meal known to man. Either I forgot something on the list, never wrote it on the list, or forgot the list at home. Either way, it's Ramen again.
Along came my second child. Game over.
I got a planner, starting writing everything down. Then I would leave it at home and come to work and be clueless. Then I made a calendar at work and forgot to sync it with my planner and forgot shit. Then my husband insisted we have a calender on the fridge so he knew what was coming up. But who are we kidding, that was solely to schedule his fantasy football drafts. So now there are 3 calendars and random things in my phone. Four, count them, four places to look and still, somehow, I forgot our anniversary. Literally. Forgot. Why? Because I'm disheveled. I guess it could be worse. I could have forgotten that my son was starting soccer. Oh wait, I forgot that too, until the 11th hour. Which I then, had to rush home on my lunch break from work with my sticky note of items he needed and run around the house to find his uniform, cleats, and ball. And oh by the way, I've known soccer was starting for months. I had the schedule in my purse. Another place with random gum wrappers and those little appointment cards the doctor gives you. I missed both kids dentist appointments this summer and didn't realize for a month.
Now I have one in kindergarten and one in daycare. So in addition to every day life, I have a daycare calendar, a before and after school center calendar, a school calendar, 2 menus, and PTA calendar. Quite honestly I think this should be illegal. This is why I don't have a life. I know people that do things. Lots of things. They are belong to groups, and clubs, and socially organized activities. They must have a lot of calendars. It turns out I don't care enough. That's right, I said it. I have a limited capacity for stuff that has to be done, and for now, that stuff all belongs to my kids. Call it what you will. Is it a shitty excuse not to exercise? Maybe. Do I look like a snob if I don't want to join you for a book club? Maybe. The fact is, if it feels so forced that I can't enjoy it, it's not worth it, at least not right now.
So I spend my time planning the most perfect, Pottery Barn-esque command center. You know the place. Right when you walk in to the house. The backpacks hang neatly, just below each kids initials. The calendars framed in vintage frames. The little handmade European bowl that you faked and bought at TJ Maxx for your keys. A chevron monogrammed rug for their rain boots to reside. You have it all organized. Your life is complete. You win.
Except, my friends, if you still have the whiteboard calendars in shrink wrap, no rug exists, there is only a lonely black shelf, with the hopes of becoming more. A shelf can dream.
So my friends, you are not alone.
Sincerely,
Your Hot Mess D'sheveled Mom Friend
I used to have it together. I mean like really together. I knew when I had appointments that were 6 months out. I knew my husbands social security number by heart, clipped coupons and knew where I stashed them, and could recite the address of everyone I knew. Then, I gave birth. Just like that, my memory (along with my nice boobs, patience, energy, ability to multi-task) went down the proverbial drain. Gone, never to be seen again.
Now if you don't have time to read this because you have it all together, I won't take offense. I mean, I probably won't call you my friend, but you won't know, because you didn't read this anyways. For the rest of you, you know who you are, the ones sitting on the computer with the following windows opened: Pinterest, Facebook, People, Target, Amazon, and some random girls blog about how to cook 40 meals for less than $25. You are my kind of crowd. Stay where you are, not like you were going to get up anyways.
Where was I? See what I mean? D'sheveled. Oh right, I gave birth to my first child and I lost the ability to have control over my life. It started slow. Like maybe I forgot that it was Sunday, not Saturday. Or perhaps that I already had a case of toilet paper when I headed to the store. Oh who are we kidding, I meant beer. But those things I can live with. After all, you can't have too much beer. Then as time passed it worsened. 'Honey, we are having lasagna tonight'....'Just kidding (throwing pot of half boiled water into the sink), I forgot the damn ricotta'. That became a standard. Living my life just one ingredient shy of any meal known to man. Either I forgot something on the list, never wrote it on the list, or forgot the list at home. Either way, it's Ramen again.
Along came my second child. Game over.
I got a planner, starting writing everything down. Then I would leave it at home and come to work and be clueless. Then I made a calendar at work and forgot to sync it with my planner and forgot shit. Then my husband insisted we have a calender on the fridge so he knew what was coming up. But who are we kidding, that was solely to schedule his fantasy football drafts. So now there are 3 calendars and random things in my phone. Four, count them, four places to look and still, somehow, I forgot our anniversary. Literally. Forgot. Why? Because I'm disheveled. I guess it could be worse. I could have forgotten that my son was starting soccer. Oh wait, I forgot that too, until the 11th hour. Which I then, had to rush home on my lunch break from work with my sticky note of items he needed and run around the house to find his uniform, cleats, and ball. And oh by the way, I've known soccer was starting for months. I had the schedule in my purse. Another place with random gum wrappers and those little appointment cards the doctor gives you. I missed both kids dentist appointments this summer and didn't realize for a month.
Now I have one in kindergarten and one in daycare. So in addition to every day life, I have a daycare calendar, a before and after school center calendar, a school calendar, 2 menus, and PTA calendar. Quite honestly I think this should be illegal. This is why I don't have a life. I know people that do things. Lots of things. They are belong to groups, and clubs, and socially organized activities. They must have a lot of calendars. It turns out I don't care enough. That's right, I said it. I have a limited capacity for stuff that has to be done, and for now, that stuff all belongs to my kids. Call it what you will. Is it a shitty excuse not to exercise? Maybe. Do I look like a snob if I don't want to join you for a book club? Maybe. The fact is, if it feels so forced that I can't enjoy it, it's not worth it, at least not right now.
So I spend my time planning the most perfect, Pottery Barn-esque command center. You know the place. Right when you walk in to the house. The backpacks hang neatly, just below each kids initials. The calendars framed in vintage frames. The little handmade European bowl that you faked and bought at TJ Maxx for your keys. A chevron monogrammed rug for their rain boots to reside. You have it all organized. Your life is complete. You win.
Except, my friends, if you still have the whiteboard calendars in shrink wrap, no rug exists, there is only a lonely black shelf, with the hopes of becoming more. A shelf can dream.
So my friends, you are not alone.
Sincerely,
Your Hot Mess D'sheveled Mom Friend
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