My friend Amanda recently wrote that we can’t do it all.
She’s right. So why does it rankle so when my to-do list swells instead of shrinks and I realize the crumbs from last night’s dinner are still under the table?
We’ve been battling colds in this house for almost three weeks, passing our germs back and forth in that special way of families with young children. The first week I tried to keep up some semblance of normal. Beyond normal, actually. Despite my sniffles I mowed the lawn and worked the landscaping. We went to a hockey game, and during the gaps of healthiness we visited friends and friends visited us.
Last week I was anticipating restored health and started the week with a zoo trip and some playground time. Then I got sick again. Realizing that my relapse probably pointed to a need for more rest, I took it easy. I mean, yes, I still crammed in cleaning the house and doing all the laundry, but one must keep the homefires burning, after all.
This weekend we packed in a local festival, a date night, and a parenting seminar. I knew I was sick, but the planned events were so important to me that I hated the thought of canceling them.
And then Sunday night, I stopped sleeping.
There’s something beautiful about realizing you’re defeated. My lack of sleep — due to incessant coughing — has caused a gradual surrender this week. After subsequent nights of little rest, I gave up the fight a little bit. Yesterday I napped with my toddler while a housecleaner cleaned my kitchen. This morning found me drinking hot chocolate while the kids watched Daniel Tiger, eventually making my way (late) to a playgroup where the kids could burn energy as I sank into the couch.
Honestly, I’m still trying to do too much. Laundry and an ambitious dinner were my workaholic indulgences today.
I’m thankful, though, that I have a safety net. A super-involved husband. Parents and in-laws who will come love on their grandchildren whenever I need them. Friends who understand when I can’t string a coherent sentence together. A housecleaner whose once-a-month visit happened to fall at the moment I was too sick and sleep-deprived to keep things going.
Perhaps, and I hope, when I admit my imperfections and my “not-enoughs,” when I can say or write them for all to hear or see, I can remember that I don’t need to do it all. That my task list doesn’t deserve top place in my life. And even though it stings when things are left undone, the striving for imperfection — and even more, the failing — are part of being human.
