Our usual playgroup visit was cancelled because I just could not get myself out the door. ‘Stuff all the media talk’ I thought as I went and put a movie on the television for Elliott and left it on for most of the day. I just had to find a way to get through the day while looking after Elliott. He was a little gem and alternated between TV and playing with his toys in his bedroom.
Elliott’s patience was at an all time low, he wanted to stand up in the trolley, he wanted to climb out of the trolley, he wanted to run down the isle and put anything and everything he picked up into the damn trolley! In my effort to make him sit down or get back in the trolley he’d scream and throw a tantrum. An old duck in front of us must have forgotten what it’s like to have children as she turned her head back towards us and glared at me more than once, probably trying to telepathically relay a message to me saying something like ‘shut your damn child up’ while I was trying to send a telepathic message right back to her saying ‘back in your box love, back in your box.’
It got to the point where I was over the shop, my energy had faded and what I had in the trolley was just going to have to be enough. I didn’t get the bananas, the sultanas or peanut butter for Mr. G, but I’m sure we will get by.
It was lunch time by the time we got home and Elliott had grabbed the loaf of white bread (Mr. G’s bread) and jam from the grocery bags. I wasn’t going to fight this battle, he was just going to have a white bread and jam sandwich, something I knew would keep him happy and something that wasn’t going to make me feel guilty this time. He inhaled the sandwich. Sometimes you’ve just gotta do what you gotta do, right?
I think it’s the first time in a very long time that I actually accepted that I couldn’t do everything in a week, that my house was a pig sty and that was ok, that there were some groceries missing but that was ok too. The best thing was that because I didn’t worry about it or let it make me feel guilty, I was less stressed and much better for it.
Really, in the big scheme of things, I thought to myself, who else cares if my house is messy, the groceries are three-quarters done or that my son ate a jam sandwich on white bread? No one! Oh and we had microwave meals for dinner too. Pfft. I’m so not a domestic goddess and proud of it!
Have you been able to embrace mess yet?
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