I just the spent the past hour trying to screw 20 screws into the ground. I couldn't find the the little thingy that holds the screw in place and I was trying to finish something. Anything. And screwing 20 screws to hold some of the new sub floor into the cat-pee-no-more closet floor seemed like something. But it took me a freaking hour to do it. As screw after screw kept falling down and then stripping and I had insulation in my hair and nothing about this should-be-easy-task was easy, I was at the end of my rope for the day. It shouldn't be this hard. None of it should be this hard. But it is all hard. It seems like everything we start turns out being a billion times harder than it should be. Every single project has snowballed into something worse.
I can do hard things. I can do hard things well. With grace. With beauty, even.
But as I was trying to screw these screws into the floor in my closet, there was no grace, no beauty, and no well. I was cursing and yelling at the floor. At the screws. At the screwdriver. At my inability to find that handy little thingy that goes over the end of the drill and holds the screw in place to make this job easy.
And I thought about how while I can handle and do hard things, I'd really rather not. And the statement that I've made for years about how most things in life that are worth anything are hard just seems so hollow to me. Because my life before Jameson got sick was easy....comparatively...and that was SO worthwhile. I'd give just about anything to have that easy back. And the labors I had with pain meds were just as worthwhile as the natural births. And if I had to do it all over again, I totally would have had the epidural with Little Lady. And at the end of the day I'd still have my baby but without all that needless pain. I can endure. But I don't want to if I don't have to.
And as I sit here writing this, with insulation stuck in my hair and a house that is so disorganization and chaotic that I don't even know where my socks are yet, I just want to burst into tears. I keep praying for perspective and I keep thinking about how all those people in 3rd world countries would die to have my cat-pee, construction-zone house and here I am, acting like a spoiled brat because I don't want to do hard things. I feel like a spoiled, whiny brat just writing this.
I'm just so tired. I'm tired of the chaos of it all. And the failing at everything. Because right now, I'm failing at home improvement as I can't get anything done. I can't even screw a freaking screw into the damn ground. And I'm failing as a housewife. My cooking has been few and far between, I am so behind on cleaning and laundry and it is all a mess. Everything everywhere is a mess. And I'm failing at being a good wife as I give Hubs a list at the end of his insane days, where he gets up at 4 am and rides a bike to work to save us money and works a 13 hour day and rides home to get a marginal-at-best dinner. And then he still plays with the kids and talks with me and helps with the clean up. And he doesn't complain at all about how he only gets 4-5 hours of sleep a night and does it all again the next day. And I'm failing as a mother as I put them in the front of the TV for hours every day while I try to get something and anything done and don't. And I yell too much and say no too much and we don't go to the parks or play enough. I'm failing epically as a mother right now. And I'm trying to find a job and that isn't going well either. I am a big failure right now.
Sigh. I know this will pass. And maybe someday I'll look back and say it was all worth it. Maybe I'll learn patience and balance and my kids won't be too scarred for life. Maybe someday we'll sit around the table and laugh about the time we lived in the cat-pee house and mom poured bottle after bottle of peroxide on the cement floors everyday and watched the splatter marks bubble up. And how she still can't use a drill right. Maybe.
All I know right now, is that I wish there was an epidural for anarchy.