PPC day thirty three: Hope and change

That closet was clean last week. It has been clean for months. It was one of my first organization projects in a long line of things to organize our life from chaos as a family of three to order as a family of four.

I know this isn't going to be solved in 9 months, but I was making good progress.

I spent all last weekend cleaning the office area in which this closet is located. The floor was clean. Toys were in bags to be put where they belong and I felt good.

But I didn't quite get all of the toys away and days later the floor was already covered in this and that. Then he destroyed that closet. The closet where I keep my photography equipment, props, knitting, computer stuff, frames — the things he is not supposed to play with.

This wasn't as much of a problem when the closet closed, but it broke a few months ago and we haven't decided on a fix.

What is really most frustrating about this is that I really, really want to keep cleaning. There are a million messes I want to fix right now but I am so tired. I have a cold, I was up for several hours in the night last night and Truman woke up early. I just don't have the capacity to clean or control the way I feel about this closet right now.

So I feel frustrated. Really, really frustrated that he couldn't just leave it alone despite constant pleas.

I also feel powerless because what has worked in the past (having him take a minute in his room until he calms down and gain control of his emotions and body) is something I just can't do right now. He's big and hard to carry all the way up stairs to his room.

So I feel trapped.

I could keep wallowing in these feelings, try to keep pushing him away so I can have a minute to come out of my fog of frustration, but that isn't working.

I think maybe I had a romantic view of parenting before I was in it where I assumed that in moments like these a knight in shinning armor would come and save me. I know several knights who would love to if they were closer.

But sometimes I just have to face the fact that this is our life, this is my child and whatever life I want to live I have to create here. Sitting around feeling frustrated won't help.

So, instead of watching the clock until Joe gets home, we are switching it up. We're going out. A change of setting will change the pace for both of us and we'll move on.

I know his mess won't look as terrible when I return and I am sure that picture will be cuter in a few hours when the memory of him throwing rainbow colored flash cards around my once clean room yelling "sparklies!" is not so fresh.

I am sure, later, this will be much cuter. And in the very least we will stop making messes while we are not here.