My husband arrived home just a bit ago. He looked around the house, saw the wee ones both playing on their Kindles and me sitting on the couch with my eyes closed. “Soooooo,” he asked. “What did you do today?”
I could hear the slight judging in his voice. He could see that the coffee table still had unopened mail waiting to be dealt with. He saw the suitcase from Disneyland still not completely unpacked and put away. And he saw his pile of laundry not quite as undiminished as he’d like. And he saw me sitting on the couch while the wee ones were playing. It doesn’t look good, I’ll admit, but by the end of the day, I don’t care how anything looks. I’m just breathing and ready for a bit of a break.
I woke up, got the wee ones up, made their breakfasts, supervised them making their lunches and getting out the door, I wrote two posts, did a load of laundry, went to the gym, ran three errands, stopped by the school to check in with the front office on PTO stuff, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, swept the kitchen floor, picked kids up from school, monitored homework, dealt with a very cranky child who didn’t like the fact that her math was done wrong, drove Mister Man to an activity and back, had a conference call, arranged a brand event, made dinner, supervised and corrected more homework, fed everyone dinner and made sure Little Miss got her antibiotics, and then we took a breath.
Most days look something like that, but I’m still surprised almost every day how exhausted I am by the end of the day. Sometimes it’s physical, but more often it’s mental, too. If I don’t take a moment to recharge, I’m sunk. I need to take that breath so that I can continue on with the rest of the things I need to do before I finally head to bed at night, hopefully with my mind at peace enough that I can fall and stay asleep.
So no, it doesn’t look that good when my husband walks in the door and spies me chilling and seemingly doing nothing. If he’d looked next to me, he would have seen the empty Stonyfield Greek Yogurt container sitting on the floor. I had just finished it since I was waiting for him to get home before eating dinner with him (I sit at the table with the wee ones and chat, but I generally wait for my husband before I actually eat) and didn’t know what time he would be home. I needed just one or two more minutes to savor my mini-break and let the protein and nourishment from the yogurt re-energize me before I got up to start herding the wee ones to bed (who still need herding and monitoring lest twenty minutes later they’re still hanging out on a bed reading a book, no pjs in sight nor teeth brushed) and then on with the rest of the evening chores.
I have my own marathon. It doesn’t come anywhere near competing with the Boston Marathon that was run today, but it’s the one I can handle – most days. Sometimes I need a little help to keep me moving when I run out of energy or motivation, and lucky for me, I know where I need to go to keep me moving past that thirteenth mile when I hit a wall.
Tomorrow? It’s Cafe Latte. It’s sitting in the fridge just waiting for me. My protein pick me up today, however, is a little more decadent. I totally went for caramel. It’s so much better for me than ice cream or pretzels, but it tastes like an indulgent sweet treat, so it’s a win all around. How do you fuel your daily marathon?