My life is a piece of toast, and I am a little square pat of butter, perched in the middle. The flat end of the butter knife comes to gently press me down, and my edges spread. Kids, husband, career, home. I am nowhere near reaching the edge of the toast, so the pressure intensifies and I get pushed a little harder, trying to touch the corners of the bread. Friends, dinner, laundry, emails. Still not making it to the toasty shoreline, no matter how I try to touch it. Faith, health, mortgage, writing.
The pressure to make it to where I need to be, to be who I need to be, can be so draining. There is not enough of me to adequately cover and that state of realizing I cannot do it all, that’s where I live. Drawn to my knees daily, stretched to my limits hourly.
I think it’s called being a mom.
Wow, I bow to you! That schedule sounds grueling. It’s amazing what we can manage to get done with such amazing juggling skills.