and sometimes it's really hard

And that's okay. Because a full life wouldn't be full if it was sometimes hard. Or something like that. One of the big bad challenges I've been dealt is the curse of the over-doer. I have always done too much, tried to put too much into one day, be too many things for too many people. About halfway through teaching my yoga class yesterday after an already excruciatingly long day involving a transitioning toddler and her meltdowns and her first time ever, Go away, Mommy! I don't like you! I just want to stay here by myself, a nursing baby and his needs, 40 brilliant children and their ideas and collective need to be heard, a beautiful husband and his desire to fix, and...the kicker...a freaking enormous batch of crabapple jelly that didn't set...I hit my wall. And with that wall came lots of tears that had no where to go but out so they came and came and came. Because sometimes a nursing mama who's hair is falling out just needs to cry. And I have to assume that I'm not the only mama who sometimes just feels so damn spent and frustrated. It is so constant. There is always so much to do. And I want to do it all well. I'm kinda getting off on trying to do it all well.

My nanny friend asked me today, Are you type A?

I had to laugh. Anyone who knows me at all would know that I'm not at all type A. I wish I were more type A. I'm taking lessons in type A. I'm trying out for the type A talent show and kinda in the running until my jelly doesn't set and I have twelve cups of crabapple syrup and I just can't shake how pissed I am. Sometimes you have to write things down to realize how ridiculous they are.

So when the tears returned this morning, I called my girl. And she talked me down. And later delivered a People magazine and a peanut butter cookie. Cuz that's all I really need to get a bit of perspective. Just ten minutes of something totally meaningless like photos from Beyonce and Jay Z's trip to Italy. Because sometimes it all feels like so much. It's all so important and so deep and so imperative and so beautiful and strong and scary and rich and I have visions where I trip on the stairs to the laundry room and Solomon flies from my arms and hits the concrete wall and I wonder if I'm totally psychotic and then I remember I'm just a mom who loves her children so fucking fiercely. And it's scary. And I love this life. I love intensity. I love people. I have to go to the dark side sometimes to bring more sense to it all. Cuz this is all I needed. Enough time to drink one glass of wine and eat one chocolate kiss and purge it all on this silly blog. Enough time so that I don't fall asleep and wake up with someone attached to my body. Enough time to brush my teeth before bed, not just conk out with the serial nurser at 8:45, my body too spent to get up from the bed.

I have to say. I love this blog. Would it be the same if I were writing this all in my journal? Maybe. The cathartic value would be the same. But the satisfaction of knowing that one person might actually read this and get me, that's huge. Because I need to be got. So there it is. Sometimes it's really hard. But it's always really, really good. As in tremendous. And huge. And remarkable. And vibrant. And now.