Every now and again life kicks you in the knackers. Twice. And while you are down it elbows you in the back of the head because it’s a git.
It has been a tough few months. My depression and anxiety got the better of me. The eldest monkey starts school for the first time in September and that brings high emotions and a ton of admin. The youngest monkeys have been in the whirlwind of the end of the school year with field trips, sports days, concerts and prize giving all held with less than 24 hours notice. The beloved is having work woes as his design business grows and the new puppy can’t decide whether the yard, the dining room or the welcome mat is his toilet. So we have been dealing with 18-hour work days, egg and spoon race stress, impromptu concerts in the living room, open evenings which have given me flashbacks to my hellish experience of school while wanting to go back so I can ignite magnesium, join the drama club and learn to code. All of this while playing spot the turd in the house. This has not been Fizzy at her finest.
I’m in therapy at the moment and my therapist is trying to teach me to set boundaries so I don’t take on other peoples problems and concentrate on my own self-care. I’d love to say that I’ve taken this advice in the spirit it has been meant but that would be a lie. My therapist has been on the receiving end of the fabled Fizzy eyebrow more than once.
Something has to change. Tonight the beloved got in from work in a mildly murderous mood, then had to take inhalers to the monkeys’ Mum’s house as middlest monkey had forgotten them this morning. I made dinner while being circles by yapping hounds only to discover that the puppy had kindly left a treasure hunt of jobbies in the hall. I cannot control all of this. Let’s be honest, I can’t control any of this. As I’m writing, one of the mutts is eating my chair. I can’t control my husband’s work, contrary to my own wishes I’m not omnipotent and cannot make the children remember everything all the time. I certainly can’t make dinner, while balancing on one leg under attack from puppies who will break off their siege to eat the furniture or shit in the hall. It’s time I stopped trying.
So here’s to having some form of routine. To meditating every day. To talking long walks and deep breathes. To making time to drink a brew and read a book. To creating something rather than tearing myself down. And to a large supply of poo bags and disinfectant.