Awkward Mom vs. Over It

I'm over it. I'm so over it. I'm over the cold. I'm over school fundraisers. I'm over trying to get children to wear gloves. I'm over signing homework binders. I'm over putting tights on 6-year-olds. I'm over repeatedly watching my daffodils die. I'm over cancelled soccer games. I'm over buying another pair of school shoes. I'm over trying too hard with moms who refuse to learn my name. I'm over math homework. I'm over trying to be everywhere at once and on time. I'm over layering for softball. I'm over pouring myself out. I'm over school projects and anything that involves tri-fold poster board. I'm over disappointment. I'm over being understanding. I'm over being patient. I'm over trying to fit my round peg into a square hole made out of skinny jeans, infinity scarfs, and disdain. I'm over opening milks and juice boxes. I'm over asking people how they are and never getting to tell them how I am. I'm over permission slips. I'm over volunteering. I'm over emails altogether. I'm over frost. I'm over making it all look so easy. I'm over it. I'm over it all.

Because I have the Aprils. I have the Aprils bad. May is the Friday of months; that heady summer eve when everything is graduation cakes and warm breezes and prom dresses and hope. And if May is Friday, then that makes April Thursday, and I HATE Thursday. Thursday is that point in the week when I give up; I've tried and I'm tired and I totally can't do it anymore, just go eat cereal and tell me when Friday is here.

Over it. 

15000 times over it. 

April and Over-It and Resentment have set up party central in my house and they claim they aren't leaving until Memorial Day. I'm too tired to kick them out, but they are making a really big mess. A huge mess. I can't find anything in this mess. Hope's gone missing. Joy's crying in the corner. Sense of Humor is asleep. Empathy peaced out; I think she went to Coachella. And I'm so over-it that I don't really care. 

Except that isn't quite true. I care. 

Not Over it.

15000 times not over it. 

The problem about Over-It is that she's a rusher. She lives in the future because she hates the present. She's returning that present, it's not her size. Nothing is her size, but that's beside the point. She wants to get over this terrible moment and land in this mystical time in the future where everything is perfect and warm and no alarm clocks are blaring. I can't exactly blame her, it sounds really nice. But if we rush there, rush to future May with all its promise and warmth, we miss this:

Last night. 

Right in the middle of the Aprils.

Who would have thought it?

 Because that's not even a May moment or a June afternoon.

That's a Christmas Eve miracle. 

Now, I'm not pushing a Pollyanna agenda here; you better enjoy the stuffing out of these April moments because they are going so fast and you won't get them back and then they are grown up and gone, hurry, hurry, you better enjoy it RIGHT NOW! Eye roll. No. That's silly, and it would only invite Guilt to the party and that guy NEVER leaves. Yes, life is short and precious, we all know this. But life is long too and full of plenty gross, terrible, boring, and over-it moments. It's all about balance. Balance and a secret stash of chocolate. 

I suppose, in the end, all we can do is not let Over-It live with us. I mean, she's welcome to hang out for an hour or two, complain over some tea and cookies, and then peace out to Coachella. From what I hear, Over-It would love it there. Over priced instrgram snacks in the desert with ironic sartorial choices; yeah, that's totally Over-it's scene. Oh, look at that! Sense of Humor is awake!