This is me, trying.

This is how it is, friends, isn’t it?

Our early parenting years are so eager. The babies roll over, cut their first teeth, they walk and talk. We’re always waiting for that next thing. Walking gives way to rec soccer and first instruments. Losing teeth gives way to shaving. Before we (ahem. me.) know it, the growth chart is gone.Baby book? Out the window. Creative lunches with notes? Uh – we forgot about that years ago.

Yes. My name is Heather and I am a slacker parent.

I actually have no clue how tall Colby is. Ask me and I’ll reach over my head as far as I can, shrug my shoulders, and say “eh, tall?”. I don’t know how to check his online grades, nor do I really care to. When people ask me what his schedule is, I purposely don’t tell them because I am TOO GODDAMN TIRED to remember. I just want to pretend there is no next game, no orchestra rehearsal, no doctor’s appointment.

Over the last two weeks, our already haphazard life fell apart. I couldn’t bear the thought of 1. cleaning my kitchen in order to cook,  2. cooking at all, or 3. Dirtying the kitchen all over again for a meal that would last ten minutes. I drove through Wendy’s on the way home from a basketball game. We ate at the table, yes, but ON THE WRAPPERS THE BURGERS CAME IN. It was both genius and disturbing. That span saw many similar meals, lunches of cheese sticks and crackers, and who the hell knows what anyone ate for breakfast. It seemed like there was a thirty-second transition time between any activity: gym-school-school-practice-game-dinner-orchestra-homework-momwork-bed. Not cool. I knew it could be easier.

Over the long, delicious weekend, I worked up the steam to actually . . . try harder, do better.

Here’s the week:

• 10 miles (so far)
• dinner – actual dinner on plates with utensils
• clean underwear ALL AROUND
• lunches (Colby approved and assisted – I’m not a freakin’ maid! – packed before bed)
• Clean dishes. No fights.
• Each day I’ve worked – I’ve finished every task I set out to do. Granted we’ve only had two work days this week, but I’ll take what I can get.

Colby was on his way down after a basketball game last night. He was feverish and … compliant. We have midterms this week, so I knew I could pull off  a short day and work from home for the rest of it. I puttered around the house this morning, prepped a roast for pulled pork, loaded the dishwasher. Instead of yelling up through the cast iron grate from the living room into Colby’s room, I walked my lazy self UP the stairs to check on him. Then back down and up to deliver a Gatorade. (Yes, most days it IS that difficult to propel myself forward OR up for that matter).

The day proceeded. More Gatorade, more stairs, more GETTING SHIT DONE.

After dinner, Matt started washing dishes and I joined to dry and put them away. I helped Colby study for his spelling test. I hadn’t helped him study for so long that I felt like a total poser, an alien in mom jeans and stretch marks. I still may not know how tall his is. These days I seem to know less and less – this is what happens when the babies start growing up and away. But today, I know that he likes pulled pork sandwiches and that neither one of us can spell plagiarism without assistance.

This is me, trying.