“You know what I mean jellybean,” I say to Bri a few weeks ago.

Immediately, she smirkly replies, “I know we’re very OUT jellybeans, Mom.”

I spend so much time trying to extract the positive from every situation that I sometimes neglect to see that I’m completely out.  Mom’s aren’t unlike their kids, in a way.  Just like a toddler trying to play with every toy and read ever book before nap-time, we’ll try to cram our day so full of to-do lists that  by the end of the day we’re left wondering…#1, why we’re so crabby…and #2, why we wake up drooling on the couch dead asleep at 9:30pm.  You’d think, in telling my little people every day how they need their rest I’d follow suite myself.  Oh, so not so.

2 family weddings in to a 4 family wedding of a summer…with volunteer coaching for XC beginning, pre-school and ballerina school about to start…and 2 races left to get that sub 20 5K finish I’ve been dreaming about every morning run/workout…this last stretch of summer is looking to be a caffeine induced zombie fest.  Hey!  At least I’ll be naturally festive for Halloween this year…which around here starts in a couple of weeks thanks to how much money Cedar Point makes off of Halloweekends.  I think it starts earlier every year.  Even my 3 year old can feel it coming…she let ‘Skeleton Jack’ play on a continuous loop yesterday while the rain fell down.

Regardless of all of the activities I fill my life with, I seem to always find room to squeeze in an extra commitment.  Like when I feel like I can’t do one more 400 repeat, but nevertheless seem to bust out one more.  ‘No more jellybeans’ just isn’t built into my DNA.  Always a will.  Always a way.

So, what happens when the jellybeans undeniably run out?  My kids  fall asleep mid-stride.  Floor.  Lawn.  Swing.  Car.  Couch.  Necks cricked in the most awkwardly stiff ways…snoring in dreamland.  Sometimes they flip out right before it happens.   The other day my 3 year old started crying over how much she ‘very does not like’  when her little sister looks at her with a messy face.  Yikes.

Moms?  Well, when I’m tapped out beyond my knowledge I usually have a good cry (over nothing or something) or extra glass (or 2) of Merlot.  But no one typically reaches out in sympathy or feels sorry for the crying, exhausted mom like they do the 3 year old.  Just crazy looks…lots of crazy looks….except from other moms of 3 year old’s who relate.

It’s easy to remain positive about the number of jellybeans left in the jar.  It’s much harder to come to grips with the fact that they’re aren’t any left.  There are certain physical…and emotional…barriers that just eat up all the jellybeans sometimes.  Some things simply require patience while we wait for the solution to reveal itself.

What I have learned this summer is that each time…in each area of my life…when the jellybeans run out…someone is there to put more back in the jar.  The sunrise at the end of my street after a run each morning…jellybean.  My family…jellybeans.  My running partners-…jellybeans.  Coaching…love those jellybeans.  My friends…jellybean-heads.  My daughters’ and their giggle attacks…jar full.

It seems that every time I’m in need of a jellybean there is someone there to hand one out.  Through the ginormous task of being a stay at home mom, on top of the things I feel compelled to volunteer for and be involved in…I could not do it with out lots of jellybeans…and my morning cup of coffee….

Thank You,  Jellybeans…

Happy Sugar Rush. 🙂

Megs

“You know what I mean jellybean,” I say to Bri a few weeks ago.

Immediately, she smirkly replies, “I know we’re very OUT jellybeans, Mom.”

I spend so much time trying to extract the positive from every situation that I sometimes neglect to see that I’m completely out.  Mom’s aren’t unlike their kids, in a way.  Just like a toddler trying to play with every toy and read ever book before nap-time, we’ll try to cram our day so full of to-do lists that  by the end of the day we’re left wondering…#1, why we’re so crabby…and #2, why we wake up drooling on the couch dead asleep at 9:30pm.  You’d think, in telling my little people every day how they need their rest I’d follow suite myself.  Oh, so not so.

2 family weddings in to a 4 family wedding of a summer…with volunteer coaching for XC beginning, pre-school and ballerina school about to start…and 2 races left to get that sub 20 5K finish I’ve been dreaming about every morning run/workout…this last stretch of summer is looking to be a caffeine induced zombie fest.  Hey!  At least I’ll be naturally festive for Halloween this year…which around here starts in a couple of weeks thanks to how much money Cedar Point makes off of Halloweekends.  I think it starts earlier every year.  Even my 3 year old can feel it coming…she let ‘Skeleton Jack’ play on a continuous loop yesterday while the rain fell down.

Regardless of all of the activities I fill my life with, I seem to always find room to squeeze in an extra commitment.  Like when I feel like I can’t do one more 400 repeat, but nevertheless seem to bust out one more.  ‘No more jellybeans’ just isn’t built into my DNA.  Always a will.  Always a way.

So, what happens when the jellybeans undeniably run out?  My kids  fall asleep mid-stride.  Floor.  Lawn.  Swing.  Car.  Couch.  Necks cricked in the most awkwardly stiff ways…snoring in dreamland.  Sometimes they flip out right before it happens.   The other day my 3 year old started crying over how much she ‘very does not like’  when her little sister looks at her with a messy face.  Yikes.

Moms?  Well, when I’m tapped out beyond my knowledge I usually have a good cry (over nothing or something) or extra glass (or 2) of Merlot.  But no one typically reaches out in sympathy or feels sorry for the crying, exhausted mom like they do the 3 year old.  Just crazy looks…lots of crazy looks….except from other moms of 3 year old’s who relate.

It’s easy to remain positive about the number of jellybeans left in the jar.  It’s much harder to come to grips with the fact that they’re aren’t any left.  There are certain physical…and emotional…barriers that just eat up all the jellybeans sometimes.  Some things simply require patience while we wait for the solution to reveal itself.

What I have learned this summer is that each time…in each area of my life…when the jellybeans run out…someone is there to put more back in the jar.  The sunrise at the end of my street after a run each morning…jellybean.  My family…jellybeans.  My running partners-…jellybeans.  Coaching…love those jellybeans.  My friends…jellybean-heads.  My daughters’ and their giggle attacks…jar full.

It seems that every time I’m in need of a jellybean there is someone there to hand one out.  Through the ginormous task of being a stay at home mom, on top of the things I feel compelled to volunteer for and be involved in…I could not do it with out lots of jellybeans…and my morning cup of coffee….

Thank You,  Jellybeans…

Happy Sugar Rush. 🙂

Megs