This was one of my favorite guest blogs. I was excited about being able to speak openly about being a juggler aka a mom who does a little too much. I hope you enjoy the blog. This one will also be listed under the family series.
Creatively Green Write at Home Mom: http://creativelygreen.blogspot.com/
Lean Mean Juggling Machine
I have been given the honor of writing a guest blog. Since I was able to get more than 4 hours of sleep. My words will actually be coherent. Today I would like to address the act of juggling. I am qualified to discuss juggling. I am a lean (not really that lean) mean (unless my kids cry) juggling (I am clumsy and drop things) machine (sometimes I do too much).
I have the privilege of being married to a superhero and gave birth to three perfect little boys. Now that everyone’s ego is super inflated it’s time to get real.
Friends and family have spent the past 12 years asking if I am on some super drug. My older sister has checked my back for batteries on numerous occasions. Like most modern moms, I am a full-time employee working more than 40 hours per week. As of this year, I am at the tail end of a Master’s in Mental Health program. My three boys are known as the wolf pack because they dominate everything. One child is an eleven-year-old genius who needs little to no help from mommy. The second wolf is a 10-year-old mathematician who happens to have Asperger’s. The leader is a six-year-old wolf pup who spends more time drawing than he does communicating with humans. As if the entertainment in my life is not enough, I listened to the wacky characters in my head and started writing again. Are you wondering about my batteries too? No need. I will tell you how to become a lean, mean, imperfect juggling machine. The answer will be yours for free 99.
I learned to juggle all of my obligations, loves, and desires by releasing control. My cultural background is all about women owning every aspect of family life. I grew up in a household with a Haitian father and a Guadeloupian mother (Guadeloupe is a small island located in the Caribbean near South America). Our household was the standard for intercultural families. We were expected to memorize all the cultural standards for both cultures while learning English. I was also born in Guadeloupe. My mother worked, cooked, cleaned, and helped with homework. My father worked, cleaned, helped with homework, and only cook if mom was gone. We were grateful that he only cooked a few times a year. There is only so much everything, but the kitchen sink rice a person can safely eat. I grew up believing I had to do it all. No matter how insane I felt, I was the woman of the house.
One day, I fell asleep and woke up the next day. I was exhausted and had been fighting a horrible cold. The house was still standing, the kids were alive, and dinner didn’t put anyone in the ER. My husband had pitched in and taken care of everything. He had been pitching in from the time our first little wolf pup had been born. Instead of allowing him to take on certain duties, I held on to them. It was that day I realized there was no trophy given to women who went insane because they did everything. We are often driven to believe that we must do it all in order to have it all. Spending hours doing everything leaves no time for the people we love or time for the pursuit of our passions. Letting go and allowing my husband to play co-juggler gave me the peace I thought was out of reach for me. He works, does laundry, helps with homework, and cleans. I work, cook dinner, help with homework, do my own homework, write steamy novels, and load the dishwasher.
We both juggle many different obligations. Sometimes we both get tired and half to switch tasks. The moment my little wolf pup says, “Mommy I want cuddles” the world stops. I never want to take on so much that I miss the little moments where I can just sit on the couch and cuddle with my little wolf pup. I also stop what I am doing when my little mathematician wants to tell me about the show he watched for the fourth time. When the kid genius wants to debate about the purpose of unfair rules or the theory of relativity, I give him a college level debate. Juggling is pointless when you drop your most fragile balls in order to catch replaceable rubber balls. I can get a new job or change my major. The stories I want to write will still be there after an hour of playing B-Damon Fury with the boys. The joys of watching your children learn and grown can be gone in the blink of an eye. Never take your eyes off of your most precious gifts. Juggle with a partner when possible. If you are alone juggling just enough but always make time to cuddle. When you drop the extra balls, clutch your main balls closer. Being a lean, mean, imperfect, juggling machine means knowing when to let the extra balls fall.
Thank you for having me Creatively Green Write at Home Mom.