The Struggle is Real

“Remember to get hot chocolate. Swiss Miss. Never ever any other kind. Unless it’s from Starbucks or Dunkin’. Or from a cafe.” So read the text from my daughter as I was pulling into the Trader Joe’s parking lot in order to pick up a frozen pizza and seltzer to feed the family on my school’s open house night. I had already jumped through 572 hoops during my day and this text was putting me over the edge. The only reason I was going home was to make sure the kids were set up for dinner and to freshen up a tiny bit before being a hostess at parent night. “Can you get Gatorade pods too?” Isaac asked. Trader Joe’s does NOT have Swiss Miss and it certainly doesn’t have Gatorade Pods. Amazon, however, did and could deliver between 5 and 10 that night. Score. No way was I going to make another stop into the vortex that is Market Basket to satisfy those requests.

Some might argue that I acquiesced to these requests too easily, that I gave in to this Gen Alpha expectation of not just needs but wants met. But, Maire had been asking for hot chocolate for the whole week and it was already Thursday. Isaac needs to stay hydrated because all he eats is carbs and processed chicken. I acquiesce because they jump through about 414 hoops per day and this September has smacked them in the face like it has me. Hot chocolate, seltzer, and Gatorade I can do—I cannot take away the myriad expectations of students and teachers in a modern American society. So I order from Amazon and at times cook premade meals from Trader Joe’s. Plus, the workers there are extra friendly and are just so good at bagging. No self checkout nonsense there. Thank God. Ain’t nobody got time for that nonsense.

After leaving very specific instructions on how one cooks a frozen pizza (make sure you take the plastic off!!), I took off to work again. It wasn’t easy not changing directly into my robe after an already very long day. I look forward to putting on my flannel robe and flesh colored pajama pants that stretch in the best possible way in the evenings, usually far earlier than most people don their pjs but I don’t care. Something about that outfit says “I’ve done all I can do, now I must sit couch”. Resisting my urge to be comfortable was heroic as was my ability to get Swiss Miss and Gatorade Pods ordered and delivered. September is what I refer to as the muscle through month. Summer pulls away but it’s still hot enough to cause hot flashes, everyone is back to the madness that is school and youth sports, and every fiber of your being wants one more week on a quiet beach somewhere. But, there is no rewind button in life which is one of its biggest pitfalls. So we move forward, muscle through, get up, drink the coffee, do the stuff, make the pizza and show up again and again.

As I was coming home the other day, I could smell someone having a fire pit and was struck with a primal need to do the same. That scent makes the blood of my ancestors bubble under my skin like nothing else. Thomas and I had a fire last night, of course. It has become our thing. As I shared my fears about a full throttle war happening in the not so distant future and geeked out over explaining how Israel came to be and the significance of the Gaza Strip and Golan Heights, the fire was the most perfect one I have ever seen. I mean that, it was. We both noticed it. The kids, their friends, Mom, my sister, and Thomas all under the same roof last night felt chaotic but good, the fire centered me after all the madness that was this week and quieted a lot of the fears I have. Sunday evening has come too soon, I am not ready for another Monday. Yet, the sun will rise tomorrow, we will get up and go, the coffee will fuel me to muscle through another week, Swiss Miss and Gatorade will fuel the kids. Next weekend we celebrate Mom’s 90th here at our house, she got her Covid booster today to be good and ready to be the Queen Bee hostess that she is. And so it goes, and so it goes. How lucky we are to keep the struggle real.

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