May is a month that looks like a calendar app having a nervous breakdown. Every single weekend is triple-booked with a birthday party, a dance competition, a play date, and something called a “Family Fun Carnival” that I agreed to volunteer for in February when I was naive and hopeful.
May Caitlin is very upset with February Caitlin for thinking she could be anything but disorganized and overbooked.
When I started blogging I used to have a weekly series called “Confessions.” It was a post where I dropped my honest inner thoughts and other bloggers could link up with theirs too. At one point I even called this website Confessions of a Northern Belle. Since then, my confessional posts have been random, unannounced at times, or even missing from my content. I think it’s time to bring them back.
I confess… Every time I get a school notification on my phone, my heart rate increases slightly. Not because something is wrong. Just because I physically cannot absorb one more piece of information about “wear neon colors Wednesday for glow dance party day.”
I confess… I said we were going to “simplify our schedule” this spring. But I definitely did NOT do such a thing.
I would now like to know who exactly signed us up for family bingo night, chorus, family literacy night, a work fundraiser, track practice and track meets with 36 different pick-up times, family carnival day, and apparently living exclusively in my office or in the car. Because it feels personal.
I confess … I said “we’ll see” to my children approximately 47 times this month and “we’ll see” meant no every single time and they know it and I know it and we have reached an understanding. I think.
I confess… At least three times this month I have driven away from my house in complete silence before realizing I have no idea where I am going.
I confess… Spirit Week was created by someone who does not have children. Or laundry. Or a functioning nervous system. “Dress like your favorite book character!” Ma’am, it is 10:37 PM and I barely know where the overdue library books are, let alone the Peppa Pig costume I made for Ailey in 2020 that Arbor is now going to want to wear.
I confess… I have replied “sounds great!” to a school email I did not read and I will probably never remember what was so great.
I confess… My camera roll in May is a crime scene. It’s: random rashes, blurry dance competition photos I wasn’t allowed to take but tried anyway, screenshots of schedules I’ll never look at again, weeds I need to identify, messes, selfies of pure exhaustion, glasses of wine, and at least one accidental photo of the inside of my purse. There is no in between.
I confess… I am simultaneously desperate for summer break and deeply afraid of summer break. Because while I cannot wait for slower mornings and less chaos, I also know I’m about to become the cruise director, the snack coordinator, the lifeguard, the Uber driver, the referee, and the woman solely responsible for “making summer magical.” The bar is so high and I set it myself and I have no one to blame.
A secret confession Moms never want to admit
But here’s the thing — I am soaking it all in. I really am. I sometimes even tear up at all of it.
- Watching my oldest cross the finish line at the track meet, not caring about her place and only her passion for running.
- Seeing my daughters explode with every ounce of confidence and energy they’re made of on the dance competition stage — four times each.
- The way Arbor excitedly yells MOMMY!! when I walk in the door after work and follows me from the living room to the kitchen to the bathroom telling me all about her day, not willing to lose me for even a second.
There are days I complain, but it’s because I’m running on fumes, surviving on watered-down Alani and mini beef sticks. I’m constantly checking things off a list that seems to reproduce overnight like some kind of administrative fungus — and forgetting to follow through with a third of the tasks. I feel like I can’t be everywhere at once and I’m going to end up disappointing someone.
But I’m making the effort. And so are you.
To all the moms (and dads) in May: you showed up for the thing. You signed the thing. You may have even remembered the thing that wasn’t on the list until someone texted you about it at 6am. You are not running out of gas. You are almost at the finish line.
(The finish line is June. June has approximately 32 things on the calendar. I have already looked.)
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