Jump Roping

When was the last time you jumped rope? Me? I couldn't tell you when the last time I physically jumped rope. I'm sure it would sort of look like someone slamming cups of Jello down on a table... watch it wiggle, see it jiggle... Yikes. Moving on. While I haven't physically jumped rope lately, I do it mentally every single day. But, here's the thing with jumping rope, once you've jumped, you have to immediately get ready to do it again. If you're not ready when the rope comes back around, you're either gonna get your shins smacked or get your feet pulled out from under you. It's a strategy game as much as it is a physical activity. You have to know the rhythm and be ready or you're going to end up on your butt. If you're jumping and have partners turning the rope for you, you can always blame them when you end up on your butt. However, if you're just jumping alone, there's no one there to blame except yourself.

Right now, I feel like I just got clothes-lined by my own jump rope and I'm sort of walking around dazed (like when you shine the laser pointer onto the wall and watch the cat smash her head full speed into the wall - I'd NEVER do that, though). October marked three years that I've been holding this fort down alone. Although I've managed to get most of the baggage organized and compartmentalized, some of those compartments and neatly stacked boxes are bulging and about ready to burst. The baggage is coming down the conveyor belt faster than I can organize it. Have you ever seen those space bag things that you cram a bunch of crap into and then suck the air out with a vacuum? That's what I need. I need the XXL sized ones with industrial closures that can't pull loose and cause the contents to spill. Now, the items being stored are not explosive or combustible. I've learned not to store that sort of stuff in the general vicinity with the general baggage. Believe me. I've learned the hard way. The dangerous stuff is dealt with immediately then double-bagged and disposed of HAZMAT style! (The little robot comes in, picks up the pile of dooty, puts it into the holding tank, and then blows it to smithereens)! Sometimes, the explosive requires forgiveness, grace, or admittance of sheer stupidity to initiate the ignite sequence but, it's easier to do it sooner than later.

The boxes that are threatening to blow open are packed full of finances related to a house that's getting older, a vehicle that's beginning to feel its age, and kids who have two speeds - go and go faster, and an ex who'll be getting married next month and the kids' questions surrounding that. The basement that's holding all of the baggage is still quite solid and can't really be shaken since it's built on His foundation. However, it can be flooded, cluttered, and even camouflaged.

As I've had to repack some of the boxes, though, I've learned more and more about myself and what makes me tick. There have been some revelations that made me cringe. Other realizations have cleared years of slime and sludge from the windshield of my life and allowed me, for the first time ever, to see who I really am.

Right now, I'm working through identity issues that most kids go through during their college years. Believe me, it's not easy to do this discovery thing with three chicken nuggets in tow. I've hidden behind others for so long. It's hard for me to know what I really like versus what I thought I was supposed to like. Once again, the whole jump rope analogy comes into play. Just when I think I've gotten the rhythm down, BAM! I realize that I've been lying to myself about something. Sometimes it's significant, while other times it's something as stupid as realizing that I hate high-heeled shoes. The significant discoveries fall along the continuum from semi-personal to... well, BAM! I can tell you that the dating world is extremely dangerous if you don't know who you are. I'll leave it at that for now.

Anyway, that's where my mind is hovering for right now. As I type, Annie is running around wearing a cow-girl skirt and the cow print vest. However, she has the vest turned backwards like she's sitting at the OBGYNs office in the dreaded paper vest. Her banter has completely sideswiped my analytical ramblings. I'm convinced that she could derail a fully loaded freight train with her antics. My original afternoon plan included a nap for myself after a long night of organizing Dasha's room but that was thwarted by Annie's screams for someone to come and wipe her butt. (If you're laughing, you obviously have never had a toddler). I thought about telling her to do it herself but she was in MY bathroom and I was terrified of what the aftermath might be. So, I gave up on the nap. Now, I'm exhausted and dreading the coming conversation with Annie about her attire. Yesterday, I let her go to the store in her Strawberry Shortcake costume, a crown, and Uggs, but today, she sort of looks like something Hugh Heffner would pose. I'm thinking "wardrobe malfunction" won't even work as a good excuse. These are the types of distractions that are funny as I type them out but after an onslaught of her antics, I start thinking about legalities of blow darts filled with Benadryl. Whew.

Anyone know how to make those darts? This cow ain't going down without a fight!

Good night, all. (Seriously, how much Benadryl can you give a toddler safely)? Oh, and I'm not proofing or editing this piece, so, you get what you get and you don't pitch a fit! :) I've got a mad cow to wrangle!