Superhero Entourage

This morning, I was making pancakes, and after pouring one cup of Aunt Jemima mix into the bowl, I measured out the milk, and promptly poured it into the tub of Smart Balance margarine.  Cursing under my breath, I poured the milk out of the Smart Balance and into the bowl, leaving pearls of white glistening in the margarine, and picked up an egg.  And dropped the egg.  Right onto the floor.

At this point, I wanted to scream.  Or cry. Or crawl back into bed.  None of these were real options, as my two year old, Riley, was happily coloring at the table, eating an "eggie" that I had effectively scrambled with some cheese before its brother hit the hardwood.  My husband was recovering in the other room from full shoulder replacement surgery, and the pancakes were for him, to try to pad his stomach against the harsh painkillers he needed to take to diffuse whatever happens to your body when someone saws off your bone and replaces it with metal.

I haven't slept in ages.  My days have become cycles of  the following:
Wake up at 7, teach until noon, come home to a husband who can barely move without shooting pain, make lunch for everyone,  erase the rambunctious Riley artwork (she has decided the walls of my house are a canvas for her dry erase crayons), lift ten month old future-mountain-climber Ella from the peak of the art easel/desk, potty train (Riley), remove crayons/paper/tissues/puzzle pieces from mouth (Ella), snack time, pretend to be a choo-choo train while dancing around the kitchen with my girls, grade papers during nap time, answer emails while both girls watch Sesame Street (thank you Abby's Flying Fairy School), cook dinner, bath time, story time, carry around the sleepy one (Ella), while the toddler takes a ride on my leg, bed time, answer more emails, watch HGTV or ESPN to relax, sleep for however long until one of the girls inevitably wakes up, administer bottle or sippy cup, toss and turn, finally fall back asleep, wake up to alarm clock, do it again.  And I wonder why I'm exhausted.

Superheroes need their entourages- Batman needed his Alfred (don't think for one second he could have survived without his trusty friend organizing Bruce Wayne's schedule and keeping the home fires burning).  Superman needed Lois and Jimmy to cover Clark's ass while he was flying around, saving the world.  

I need my family relieving me when I'm dropping pancake ingredients into, and onto, the wrong receptacles.  It's times like this that I realize I'm lucky.  I have a husband who makes me laugh and stays home with our kids while I am at work.  I have jobs that allow me the best of the work/stay at home worlds.  I have a mom and step-dad who are amazing with my kids and live three minutes away.  I have the greatest in-laws in history, who drop by to give me much needed breaks and naps on their way home from work.  I have an aunt-in-law who comes by at least once a week for her "nieces fix".

But they aren't here 24/7, and the reality is, we all have our breaking points.  It's a matter of finding that second joint of bending, to make sure that you can embody Elastigirl for a moment.  It's laughing when the egg hits the floor, instead of crying.  It's accepting that during bathtime, you're going to get more soaked than if you were in a splash zone at Sea World.

It's knowing that these moments with small children that cling to me are fleeting, and to embrace the noise and the shrieks and the laughter.  Because the superhero entourage isn't complete without the people that look up to you, learn from you, and appreciate you.  And that makes it all worthwhile.