Complicated rant of a twin mom, and tween mom, and dog owner, and lawyer, and human being

7:35 PM

When you are a lawyer, and you married a double doctor (no, not a people doctor, he sees the creatures with no evil Freudian "id" and additionally completed the "other" terminal degree that goes by "doctor"), and you use "quotes" way too much in life (appropriately, but clearly evidencing your sarcasm and propensity towards eye-rolling), you are not allowed to rant about how "complicated" your life is... Or at least you feel that way.

Complicated.  It's somewhere between gloriously blessed and "Are you KIDDING me with this fresh pile of dog puke in the middle of the path to the last pack of diapers for the two toddlers needing corks in their diarrhea butts while a smart mouth tween tells you how boring this place is?!"

I hired a house cleaning service this year.  I'm 35 years old, and I have never experienced this.  You know what makes this depressing?  I spend about an hour and half the night before picking up toys, putting the normal dishes away, picking up laundry, shoes, and random stupid mail (all requiring some sort of action), and throwing away items someone will be looking for tomorrow after trash day.  Approximately two minutes after I walk in the door post-cleaners, inhale the clean scent and smile, three dogs run back through the open door with mud on their feet, the tween does not remove her shoes when she drops her backpack and coat, and the twins are ready for dinner that will end up all over the floor that the dog hair will cover by the end of the hour.

Don't write me off as awful yet; I LOVE that I get this approximate 2 minutes of bliss.  And another minute of bliss when I go to bed and its made.

I am just not sure why the guilt to be perfectly happy and not need to rant is so high.

Here's where I'm coming from:

Teenage years I spent doing anything possible to get out of Friday Night Lights / West Texas high school and go be/do something.  Before you think I'm being condescending here, we weren't even that good at football; I'm throwing a compliment that I'm from a town with nice stadium lights.  To be fair, I had some great teachers, and great friends.
I graduated a year early.

Twenties I spent working during the day, and going to college at night.
Oh, and I had a kid that I was raising by myself, and went to law school, with said kid, two states away from anyone I really knew.  I lived in a studio apartment for awhile and gave the bedroom to the kid.  I ate half of frozen meals sometimes.  I represented myself against the insurance company when a drunk driver totaled my car after a law school event one night.  I absolutely loved getting to go to law school, despite studying after toddler's bedtime til 1, or 3 a.m., and getting back up at 6 a.m. to do it again.

Towards the end of my twenties, I found THE man.  THE friend.  THE doctor.  THE dog lover.  Yeah, he had two dogs, so he had to be gold.  I had a dog.  WE now have THREE dogs.  These assholes are going to live forever.  You know, because I married a veterinarian.  I love them.  But, seriously, can you shed, puke, crap or otherwise destroy something anymore TODAY?

Thirties I have acquired a career position that is new.  Not just new to me, but new to the world.  Try that on for size everyday.  No, there's not someone to tell you how it goes, you're making how it goes. Jokes on you if that's all wrong.  I've also acquired a house, with THE man, that was (in my mind it still is) a foreclosure.  Two words AS IS.  This place has a new adventure awaiting at every season, and its been three + years.  Did I mention we are in the coldest place on Earth?  No?  Well, technically they only have one season here: winter.  Even if you don't agree that it is the coldest, I can assure you its ridiculously cold for 9 months out of the year.  The other three months are tolerable.  The people, though... The people I work with, the people I live around, the people of this frozen tundra, they're honest, hard working, smart, fun people.  The teachers of my children, the teachers of me, are just solid. 

Where do I go from here?  I can't leave this half finished (being generous) house, this half started career, this half hearted love affair with the irony of a Texas girl in Wisconsin, and how I'm being force fed grit (not the southern breakfast).

Where I should go is somewhere warm... about twice a year.  But, our current vacation allowance is tied up in student loans and daycare.  If I die before our student loans are paid off, I'm haunting someone... People who aren't safe: The National Bar Association, student loan providers, the federal government, the board of regents of any college I attended, any bar association, the Board of Law Examiners, BARBRI bar study company, and Directv (I just hate the movie ordering experience from the countryside where cable internet is not an option).

I have a raging cold, twins, three dogs, and a tween.  I'm just certain its okay to RANT.
You know that moment when you pull your toddler who can't walk yet out of their bigger kid car seat and then know you have to grab the other toddler who can't walk yet out of their bigger kid car seat, and get their coats on to get them the 14 feet to the daycare door when its 27 degrees, and you just want to be like SHIT.  How do people DO this?  Why does ANYONE live here?  Is my ear actually going to explode from the sinus pressure right now?  Did I remember to bring more diapers?  Do I have the conference password to that 8 a.m. call with 14 people saved in my cell calendar since its 7:56 right now?  Is it an early release day for the tween on this day that the cleaners are scheduled to be at the house at the time the bus runs and the amazing neighbors are out of town?  Did I put deodorant on?  Do I care?

Rants are for everyone, including those who realize they are IN the happily ever after.
 I have deodorant in my car console.  WINNING.

You Might Also Like