The Right Words, at the Right Time . . .

So, I know, I know. I keep promising more blogging. And I'd really love to do some.

Unfortunately, life disagrees right now. Patrick is now in rehearsals for Phantom's Feaste (where he plays the hero, Van Helsing - yay!!) three nights a week. Fridays are reserved for prepping for Festival, Mondays for the recovery. And on the weekends, I walk around in the mud in a stupidly-expensive court gown, talking in an English accent to every three year old who thinks I'm a princess.

Really, life could be worse. It just couldn't be much busier. And I'm tired. So incredibly tired. We move next week, and I have officially packed 6 boxes of books. And that's it.* I have projects that have been pending for weeks and months, friends who would like to see me some day, family who would probably appreciate a phone call, and a blog that I see on the rare occasion that Miles actually sleeps long enough for me to eat and type out a post.

And all of this makes me reflective. I have now spent an entire year trying to figure out how to juggle everything. And I still feel like I'm dropping things left and right. Work? It gets done, in a half-assed sort of way. Housekeeping? Pretty much non-existent, until it gets too disgustingly horrible and I stay up until midnight on a Friday scrubbing every surface in sight. Projects, writing, all of that me-time? Yeah, right. The only thing that gets constant attention is Miles. I pride myself on the fact that I will drop everything to play with him (or whatever) when he needs it. Even so, there are days** that I try everything, only to have him scream at me until I sit him in his crib to scream while I turn up the radio and pick up cheerios. And while I know that sometimes, there's just no other way, I still feel like a Bad Mommy when it happens.

And the fact that nothing else is getting done doesn't help.

So, I was feeling pretty depressive about being a Bad Mommy. And a Bad Assistant. And a Bad Wife. And a Bad Housekeeper. And pretty much, just a Failure.

And then, yesterday, at Festival, Verna (honestly, one of the sweetest women I've ever been lucky enough to know) said something that helped more than she will ever know:

"Tabitha, I don't know how you do it all - you take care of Jim, and the Festival, and Miles, and you balance it all. And you make it look easy."

I know, on a very real level, that it's not all perfectly balanced. And I know that it's not easy. But Verna's compliment tells me that perhaps I am, once again, expecting more out of myself than is reasonable. And I'm still managing.

I just need to find a way to be a bit more reasonable, and a bit less crazy-busy. I'm not sure exactly what that means, or really if there's any point in typing this out at all, but just knowing that others do not see me as a Failure helps my heart rest a little easier.

If you made it this far, thank you for listening to me ramble. I promise the next post will be more about Miles, and less about me. :)

Whenever I find the time to write again . . .

*And to be entirely honest, I did that much this morning. . .

**Like today.