In the morning I get to wake up early, drag myself out of bed, and make myself a cup of coffee.
Then, I get to pack lunches and sign papers and pick out outfits.
After that, I get to do wake-up calls and make breakfasts and find that specific green shirt for Color Day.
Next, I get to help my children get dressed and groomed and make sure they have everything they need for school. And don’t forget about getting myself together, too.
When that is done, I get to make sure that each of my kids arrive at their different schools at different times with different modes of transportation.
When those things are complete, I can sit down for a minute and finally drink that cup of coffee.
It’s exhausting, right? The hectic morning routine of a parent with young kids? And to be honest, the fact that this is expected of us day in and day out with no end in sight makes it even more daunting.
It’s ok if you struggled this week.
It’s ok if mornings needed an extra cup of coffee to get the kids out the door on time.
It’s ok if you forgot a spirit day or to return a library book.
It’s ok if your kid did not eat the lunches you packed.
It’s ok if you didn’t have time to pack lunches, so they had to buy from the school cafeteria.
It’s ok if you left the dinner dishes soaking overnight so you could get to bed a little earlier because you were just spent.
It’s ok if you skipped a bedtime story (or two) for the same reason.
It’s ok if you couldn’t manage anything besides getting through the minimum responsibilities of each day.
Because you did it.
I’m proud of us.
Every year I emotionally relive what happened on this day in 2001.
We all do. How could we not? This is a day in history that changed everything. It changed the world and the way we looked at it. It changed us.
For many people in my generation, it was the first time in our lives that we realized just how vulnerable we really are. The first time that we realized everything could literally change in an instant.
Every year on this day I feel the need to share my experience of what happened on September 11, 2001. Where I was, what I remember, how I felt, what I did. I feel the pull to say these things out loud. To tell them to others. And from scrolling through my social media feeds, I know I am not the only one who feels this either.
Maybe this is just a way for us to memorialize the events that took place and acknowledge our own experiences.
I am a writer, and I want to write something.
Really, I do. It’s just that the creative part of my brain is not cooperating right now.
Many parts of my brain are in overdrive, for sure. Here are some examples of the ones that are working just fine:
-the think-about-all-the-things-I-have-to-do-but-not-do-them part
-the worry-I-suck-at-parenting part
-the what-am-I-going-to-do-with-the-kids-all-summer part
-the make-sure-I-fit-in-my-run-for-my-sanity part
-the I-literally-want-to-run-away part
-the overthinking-every-interaction-with-other-humans part
-the let’s-just-try-not-to-completely-fall-apart part
Full disclosure time.
I need to share something with you, so I’m sure that you know who you are following here. Because – spoiler alert – I’m not cool.
I’m an overthinker.
I am awkward most of the time. Ok…all of the time.
I don’t know how to fake it to fit in.
I often find it difficult to filter my thoughts, usually at my own heart’s expense.
I’m highly sensitive.
I am hard on myself.
I’m shy and private, but I talk too much sometimes. (Oh, and also this whole sharing my life on the internet thing.)
I am oh-so-quirky. Just ask my friends.
I don’t play games. I literally don’t know how.