These last few months have been incredible stress-wise. As in, I never knew I could experience that much of it. But the first weeks of 2013 have made the months preceding them look like a beach vacation. I feel pulled too tight. I think I might snap. A simple, “Mom, can I have more milk?” can send me over the edge at any moment. In fact, the other day Luke had occasion to say, “That’s not nice, Mommy! We’re just little kids so we can’t cook. You have to get us food and things. It’s your job!” Heap guilt and regret right on my pile of stress.

As you know, my husband and I have started a new business venture. The process of getting it going took several months, lawyers, contracts, banks, negotiations, thousands of dollars, and finally a loan that will be fine if we succeed, and bankrupt us if we don’t. Instead of working 10 minutes away, Tim is now driving an hour – highway miles – every morning and evening. He leaves before I wake up, and comes home well after dinner. He often doesn’t see the kids at all. My job is to take care of everything on the home front.

Tim is dealing with new staff, new clients, new equipment, new area, new contracts with auxiliary organizations, new relationships with other, new, professionals in the area, new responsibilities, new unbearable pressure to make this work. It feels like not one thing has gone smoothly. But it’s supposed to be hard. Everyone said it would be. The first 3 months will be hell – that’s what we knew going in. But knowing it and living it are two different animals! The only comparison I can think of is having your first baby. You know you’ll be tired; you know it will be hard. But you don’t. The overwhelming, life changing, exhausting, constant-ness of the whole thing just has to be endured. My job is to take care of everything outside of the actual professional work which Tim has to do. My job is to be his support, his sounding board, the one who reassures. My job is to absorb the stress dumps and give optimism in return.

Did I mention that it’s an hour away? We need to move. Every “free” moment I spend looking at houses. Problem is: we have no idea what our income will be. We know what our income is projected to be, what it should be eventually. But what it will really be? Who knows? Should we buy a shitty cheap house and move again in a couple of years? Should we rent, which would cost more monthly but save us another buying/selling ordeal? Or should we save the stress and expense of buying/selling/moving again in a year or two and just buy a house we can actually be happy in? My job is to find the answers. My job is to scour MLS listings and spend hours going around with our Realtor looking at houses we can’t afford and houses we couldn’t be happy in.

Before moving, we first need to sell our house. Our house that is covered with small-child dirt and debris. I need to make this shit shine. I have been using bleach and a toothbrush. I have been painting, putty-ing, and Magic Erasing. I have been packing boxes and crates. I have been carrying things I have no business carrying by myself. My job is to get this house on the market by the end of this week. My job is to clean, pack, fix, hide, and dress up every inch of our house so that people throw money at us to take it. My job is to secure a mortgage.

So, did you catch all that? To review:

1. My job is to take care of everything on the home front.
   
2. My job is to take care of everything outside of the actual professional work which Tim has to do.
3. My job is to be Tim’s support, sounding board, the one who reassures.
4. My job is to absorb the stress dumps and give optimism in return.
5. My job is to find the answers.
6. My job is to find a house we can afford AND live in.
7. My job is to get our house on the market by the end of this week.
8. My job is to clean, pack, fix, hide, and dress up every inch of our house so that people throw money at us to take it.
9. My job is to secure a mortgage.

And of course, as Luke reminded me, my job is to “get food and things” for the kids. I also ought to spend time with them, laugh with them, read to them, listen to them, wash them, put them to bed, get them up, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc.

I have too many jobs. I’m multitasking to the point of absurdity. I keep putting the milk away in the pantry.

This is why a simple request for a drink can send me over the edge into crazy-mom land, which then leaves me saturated in guilt and remorse. My kids are the ones suffering the brunt of my stress. My kids who did not choose to start a business, did not choose to move. But of all the balls I have in the air, theirs is the only one that won’t shatter should it hit the ground. Theirs is resilient enough to bounce, enduring this tumultuous time in our family life where nothing is comfortable and everything is hard. At least that’s what I’m hoping.