an imperfect saturdate

I am not a perfect parent.

Actually, at least half of the time, I don't even think I'm a "good" parent. It's not for lack of want or effort, but I'm often tired and my tiredness translates to a short temper, a sharp tongue and little to no desire to go to the park and play when the day comes to an end. And weekends just don't seem to last long enough.

Last night, I let F watch a movie while we snuggled in bed together. When I awoke at 6 am this morning, I was immediately frustrated. It's a Saturday, and I just wanted to sleep in. So I tried to fall back asleep. And I couldn't. Then F woke up. Then there was just no getting back to sleep. So I started thinking about the million and one things I wanted to do today but about halfway through the list I realized that the day was early and I was already being a shitty parent. Why? Because not a single thing I was planning to do involved F. And that's pretty shitty.

So I plopped my laptop down on the bed and I turned on Frozen. And then, I went to the kitchen and made pancakes. And then I took those pancakes, dropped 'em on plates and took them to bed where I watched the entirety of Frozen with F as we ate our chocolate chip pancakes and drank chocolate milk and just enjoyed him. And then we went to Starbucks to meet a friend before walking to a playground for an hour.

And then we walked home, ate macaroni and cheese (his request), and we went to the Frog Pond for a walk. And then we ate popcorn for supper because it's a Saturday. Even though the day was pretty great, F had two timeouts and Mama has a headache now.

Absolutely nothing runs smoothly with F. He's a great little boy but he's got too much of his mother in him. We butt heads. He's stubborn and testy at the best of times, and positively stabby when things don't go his way. But he's also sweet and sensitive and intelligent, and each day is a lesson in patience for both of us. We argued at the park about whether it was time to go. I negotiated with him at the playground when the time had come to leave. It's never easy, but it's wonderful.

And that's parenting, isn't it? 

It's not about perfect outings and the cleanest home, having the most obedient child or a car without a layer of grime and Cheerios. It's about the hiccups. The arguments. The tears and the frustration and the love and the pride that makes your heart feel like it could burst. And of course, chocolate chip pancakes on Saturday mornings.

Fit

Just over two weeks ago, I made the decision to leave my job.

After a few months of looking, a handful of interviews and a lot of time spent wringing my hands an offer landed in my lap and I leaped at the opportunity. It was different. New. It would be a challenge. And then, ten days after accepting the position, ten days after feeling a weird mix of happy and sad, excitement and terror, ten days after making up my mind another offer came in. 

When it rains it pours.

So I contemplated. And I cried. I looked at Mr. Hockey Coach and asked what I should do. I called my prof. I called my parents. I spoke to friends and colleagues and I wrote pros and cons lists and I felt sick because it was too tempting. I could go home, but I was miserable just contemplating it. So I said fuck it and I turned down that second opportunity. And a weight was lifted. But then I wondered - and I knew I would - whether it was the right decision.

I sat at a coffee shop waiting for the office to open on Monday morning, giving me time to think. I sat in the corner of the shop and watched as people shuffled past the window in the cold, as the traffic lights changed and I pondered my choice. What if I hated it? What if it wasn't the right fit for me? But what if it was?

After leaving my second day of work today, I had the answer. 

I made the right decision. I'm the kind of happy and excited that I haven't been in a long time. I can see the challenges before me and I can hardly make my brain shut up for long enough for me to think about anything else.  There's something amazing about realizing that you've found something that fits - and yet still needs to be broken in.

Like the perfect pair of shoes.

Stunday

Apparently, I am stunned today.

Hence, Stunday.

I'd like to take this time to sheepishly retract any statements made about "not minding" the time change, or that Mondays "aren't so bad" and will gingerly place my right foot in my mouth. I knew I should have gone for that pedicure. 

Blergh.

The whole shitstorm of this morning really began yesterday around 4:25 pm when I glanced into the backseat and saw F leaning back in his carseat, half-eaten bag of Lays ketchup chips in his hand, mouth wide open, fast asleep. It was just too cute to disturb, so I decided I'd let him have an hour. Which turned into two. And a half.

Then it came bedtime, at 8:30. Four hours after he'd drifted off to sleep in the car, there wasn't an ounce of sleepiness in my child. He bounced and rolled and tossed and turned and giggled and talked and pretended to snore and yelled at the cat and OH MY GOSH MAMA WHERE IS MY LEGO until I finally put a pillow over my head and rolled over. At 10:45 pm.

And then my alarm went off at 5:30 am and I muttered a few four-letter-words before hitting snooze and declaring it a "bad hair Monday". But then, without warning, it was 6 am and I really needed to get moving. Bright-eyed and bushy tailed, F sat up and asked if the game I'd told him I'd download but didn't really (thanks Mom!) was ready to play with. So then, I had to buy the app because HE NEEDED IT OH MY GOODNESS MAMA. And I would like to teach him that keeping our promises is a thing, too. 

So I made coffee, and without looking at it before I started making out with the cup (staring is rude, you guys), I missed the fact that the cream had curdled and you can pretty well guess how that ended. Related: I need to scrub my kitchen cupboards when I get home today.

And then, at 7:20 - undercaffeinated but wearing clothes - I was so sure that I had everything we could possibly need for my first day of my last week of work, and F even had his pants pulled up and boots on the right feet. Out the door ten minutes late, and yet at preschool on time because Mama went rogue and made a U-turn on Herring Cove Road because it's Monday and I'm crazy like that... and I realized we had no snow pants.

If anyone needs me, I'm setting up an IV Keurig drip. And then going home to find those cursed snow pants so my kid doesn't have to sit inside by himself. 

Bittersweet

I accepted a new job last week.

I'll never deny that I always keep an eye open and an ear out for new opportunities in everything, from my writing to apartments. Once upon a time I was quite content to be static, until my life began to feel stagnant. Perhaps it is the fear of staleness in my life that lights the proverbial fire under my ass that keeps me looking for new adventures, but whatever it is, I found myself at a crossroads and decided to take the unbeaten path.

And so, with some trepidation, I said yes.

And then, with much sadness, I wrote my letter of resignation.

And then I almost threw up.

Moving on to this new position is both exciting and terrifying. While I am thrilled to have this opportunity, I can't help but feel a pang of sadness as I know I'll desperately miss my friends in the office. I'll miss the sense of accomplishment that comes from knowing that the work I do every day helps better the lives of others. 

But I'll meet new people. I'll do new things. And the opportunities ahead of me are endless.

It's nothing shy of bittersweet, as I look forward to my first day at my new job and dread my last day with the office. 

Until then...