My first solo mission with three torpedoes (yes, I am describing my children as missiles of mass destruction) flying directly towards me has been going pretty well. My day has been strategic to include a long morning separation where they spent hours at the gym daycare. Usually this provides solace in an otherwise anxiety filled world. Today, on the other hand, it did not.
Each week things have been getting progressively worse, ironically during my kickboxing class. The lengths at which everyone goes to secure their spots has become more and more obscene. I think I may need to take a trip to an orphanage or hospice or something to refocus myself on the larger things in this world, things that should cause more anxiety than maintaining a good spot for a kickboxing class.
My nerves spiked to a high level, my frustration trickled over to my attitude toward the class and my agitation caused a necessary run post class all leading up to a tardy pickup of my kids. I blame that lady that squeezed her butt in front of me at the last second. I blame that other lady who conspired with her friend to save her spot from the class before. And I definitely blame that lady who disciplined me the week before because she said I kick too far! My legs are long, what do you want from me crazy lady! Hm…who is the one who really just sounded crazy there???
As monotonous and boring as the treadmill can be, I think I may need to hit that up these days. I might just need a kickboxing time out. Or a realty check. Perhaps I have taken this stay at home mom gig WAY too seriously and made my gym a lifeline in a way that it supplies oxygen to my brain.
After leaving the gym, I had an extra edge. I was less patient than NORMAL with my kids because I had some extra frustration. Who needs this? Who needs a kickboxing brawl as exercise? Maybe I can just chalk it up to the fact that I’m nervous with Adam’s new job? Nope…I think I’m just crazy.