I'm a sorter.

I fancy sorting clothes for the wash. Folded leg, silence and three target spots for each category. By the door, by the wall, by the closet. Boom. Boom. Boom. I become the Mickey Mantle of laundry. Quickly I make mountains into molehills in the hallway. Moving swiftly but with concentration. Speed plays a key part in my ritual. Every other care that would usually enter my mind is pushed out by: dark, whites, lights, mine, kids, his. Without speed my mind will wander. And, one misstep, one random worry about bills or futures and that lone red sock will sneak it's way into a bundled up white shirt.

I'm sure this doesn't make for interesting blog reading, but it's life @ 8:21 on a day from hell.

I am a worrier. An over thinker. Hopeful but pessimistic. I'm the girl who sees a glass and it's neither of the classic "half empty" or "half full"...I would sit and worry if the glass was properly cleaned (read: fear of germs), which would lead me to wonder if I turned the dishwasher on already, which would lead me to calculate the light bill into the adjusted budget, which would lead me to think why do I need to revise the budget again & when will I learn that "this amount left" means just that..not "maybe there's something more to squeeze in here". Within minutes, an innocent thought turns to a downward spiral & for the rest of the night I'm ruined.

Ruined. How dramatic of me.

Sorting is simple. I like simple. Or rather, I like the idea of simple. Truthfully, I live by the school of thought that says life requires a healthy (and sometimes an unhealthy) dose of complications and snags to make it much more interesting. I should learn to value peace over entertainment..but I'm an American born in the microwave generation. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.


So today...

Big A decides that this weekend, which contains father's day, last t-ball game, the end of the season t-ball party and the last weekend to pack before we move, is the perfect weekend to go on vacation. Gee...thanks! To be fair (in case he stumbles upon this), he did plan this out weeks ago and he only planned for this weekend because a college friend was getting married and the wedding was in his hometown (DC). I know his love for DC is a close second to his love for me, so dutiful wife (that's me) urges him to go and enjoy himself. But now that dutiful wife hopes it rains, snows and hails this weekend, while he's not in the sky mind you. That's pure evil, ain't it?

Today was hell, in case you didn't hear me before. A3 is sick. Not just sniffle sniffle cough cough sick. But every 4 hours needing a breathing treatment, not sleeping through the night, can't get down and run without wheezing sick. If you have a kid with asthma I know you feel me. But the misery only begins there. He's sick, I'm the coach of t-ball without an assistant coach to take over in my absence and my mom (my lone baby sitter) is NOT off today.

Me: Mom? (the question mark is to emphasis the sound of whinning...I'm an only child. So yeah, sometimes I whine to my mom.)
Mom: Yes?
Me: Can you.....
Mom: Of course, but....

And so it is. I can make it to the game and the party but as Cinderella because in 3 hours my baby sitter will turn into a nagging old lady (rightfully so, she has to go to work) and I must beat the clock. Did I mention that, beyond coaching, I still had to pick up the cupcakes from Target AND take someone lunch AND set up the room AND make it from the van to the banquet room without dropping everything because A2 can't pick up a bag due to the fact all of them, including the one with just CHIPS, is "too hebby" for her. UGH.

But I made. Made it all happen. In 90 plus degree weather nonetheless. Not one dropped bag, not one undone task, not one kid forgotten on the field and not one person there knew how deeply exhausted and hurt and horrible I felt inside. I did however come back home a little late. by 20 minutes to be exact.

^ That above is a confession from a person who hates to claim weakness. I hate for anyone to think, let alone SEE me need help. Shoot, I hate to see myself need help. But whenever the task is pulled off as a complete success....guess who sits in front of her computer far from rejoicing? There's no triumphant moment. No fanfare or trumpets at the finish line. This is just another day that Mom has to be Mom.

You know what I did when I got home? After I put the party girls to sleep and gave A3 his meds and watched my mom drive off....

I sorted clothes.

Darks, whites, lights.
Mine, kids, his.
Don't think. Don't worry. Don't cry.

Just keep sorting.