Spring rains sound far more romantic than they really are

So, ok, this motherhood thing…

So about this motherhood thing.

Do you realize that we do not get the tools we need?

No one prepares us.

No one gives us a manual.

No one considers our  coping strategies or how that will contribute to our longevity.

This is a crappy return-on-investment protocol. There are husbands and/or pool boys that expect to get YEARS of wear out of us.

We start out like this:

Then in a few short years we are this:

No. This won’t do at all. I don’t care for myself in this state. I need something better.

I need a plan.

I need a…philosophy.

So I did some philosophy shopping.

Or, philososhopping, if you will.

I rejected a few. Sheenism was too manic. Pradaism too expensive, as was the Church of Choo and Blahnik. I briefly considered Gleeing, but I don’t have the wardrobe nor the falsetto. So I settled on a classic:

Yes. This will work. This is what I need.

Grounding.

Centering.

Letting the stresses of the day glide off me like spring rain.

Yep. Check that out.

Spring rain, baby. Spring rain.

Ok, yes well, even the gentlest spring rain can pelt you on occasion. I may feel those drops just a little.

But only a little.

Ohhhhmmmmmm.

So, ok, showers can turn into squalls occasionally.

I’ll just breathe through it.

Yes. Breathe. Rain. Breathe. Rain.

I will spring the crap out of this rain.

SPRING, GODDAMNIT.

ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU $%@&ING RAIN????

Aaaaaannnnd….we’re back to square one.

It’s ok.

I’m nothing if not flexible.

If that didn’t work, we’ll just try something new.

I’ve found just the thing.

Aaahhhh….perfect.