Stretched Thin

This is my second blog post of this morning. The first one was a long litany of how much I hate Halloween, how much of a pain in the butt it is, how many costume pieces go missing, and on and on. I threw it in the metaphorical wastebasket. The real story today is how none of those things are the real problem. The real problem is how stretched thin I feel. There’s no candy in the house yet, we somehow have to salvage an entire holiday that involves seeing a million strangers, and what was once a chaotic day full of fun is now a reminder that there is no good chaos around here anymore.

The straw that broke this camel’s back was the zoom call log ins this morning. You see, I had just tried to make one kid’s hair look like Hermione’s (it didn’t work, according to her), get another into an Enola Holmes costume, prepare myself for a parent kid dance party on zoom that I’d heard about moments earlier, and was navigating one set of tech issues when I hear another kid screaming, screaming that her computer wasn’t logging on. I’m not a natural multitasker, and while hearing increasingly upset screams from the other side of the house, I could feel my blood pressure rising. My patience is stretched thin.

When I finally gave up on one kid and did the old “turn it off and on again” trick, I ran into the kitchen (dogs barking loudly) and lit into my kid. “You know you don’t just scream at me! You know I’m not your servant to be beckoned! You get up, walk over and find me! Don’t you ever do that again!” I’d like to say this is uncommon, and we’re all working on it, but a lot of mornings look like this. Our reserves are stretched thin.

I’d also like to say that we got to take a few moments and connect after my outburst. Instead, the tech issues were fixed, I apologized, offered a hug and a glass of water, then ran back to the other kid who had worked some magic and was on her call, just in time to dance like a fool for three minutes. My time is stretched thin.

I’m told that, traditionally, Halloween is the time of year when the reality is stretched thin. When things feel precarious. I certainly feel on the edge. Like I’m standing on a tightrope, juggling a million balls and not sure if the one I just dropped is the really important moment, or the thing my kids will laugh off later. Everyone tells you it all works out in the end, but they don’t know that, not really for sure. Teenagers make bad choices, accidents happen, and life twists in all sorts of ways.

During this time of precariousness, all of those possibilities feel a little closer. It’s a little harder for me to compartmentalize my fears about Willow’s health (she has Type 1 Diabetes). It’s a little harder for me to feel hopeful about a future that seems completely unpredictable. It’s a little harder for me to tell myself that my mistakes are allowable, that I’m not just screwing up everything ever.

I wonder if this precariousness isn’t maybe a gift. It’s good to doubt ourselves sometimes. It’s good to acknowledge how precious life is. It’s good to admit the truth — none of us knows what’s coming. Let’s sit in that for awhile.

But the key to that gift is that we don’t stay there forever. We feel stretched thin for awhile and then we regroup, we recharge, we let go of the fears and doubts and worries. We move into a season of gratitude. Maybe all the same stuff is there. The zoom calls don’t work, the kids are screaming, the dog will not stop barking at the cat that keeps destroying the toilet paper rolls in the bathroom.

But we’ve been through a time of heightened awareness. So those moments, as overwhelming as they may be, are evidence that the things we fear have not yet come to pass. The child who is screaming at me has not died because I made a mistake in insulin dosing. I am still in the chaotic present, the terrible futures I fear have not yet come to pass. I still have a house to clean, my mistakes have not destroyed my life. There is still hope. There is still time to change, to choose thankfulness, to make the choices that bring me closer to being the person I want to be.

What overwhelming things do you feel grateful for today? Where do you feel stretched thin? What brings you hope for the next season?