My day begins with an obscenely early wake up call, courtesy of my children. On weekdays, the chaos starts immediately. I chase my three and a half year old around the house. First, trying to get him to eat something… anything. Then wrestling him to the ground, placing him in a loving headlock, and forcing clothes on him. I promise him world peace and a monkey in exchange for brushing his teeth. And I plead with him to get your shoes on!

Our mornings are predictably unpredictable and anything but easy. But, one thing stays constant during that hour of mental noise. My eyes stay on the prize. The promise that, in just a few short moments, I will be alone sipping my hot mom crack and enjoying the silence. And, by silence, I mean the unmistakable sound of five woman sitting around a table, discussing current events.

The action picks up again a few hours later, when I set my new goal – just make it to dinner and bath time. Once we’re all in our pajamas, we curl up together and watch Dinosaur Train. I can finally exhale a bit, I’ve almost made it through another day with a toddler and a baby.

After I get both boys to sleep, feeling like I just climbed Mount Everest, or at the very least hiked a large hill, the wine is opened and the much anticipated relaxation begins. We’ve all made it to the end of the day relatively unscathed.

I find most of my days fit this blueprint, always rushing to get to the next step, inching closer to the end of the day when I can stop waiting on everyone. As much as I love my children, they are my life, I find myself willing the time to pass faster each day.

“Oh, if we can just make it through this I can relax.”

“My God, I can’t wait till we are out of diapers. I’m so sick of wiping someone’s butt all day!”

“I’ll be so relieved when we can stop buying formula!”

All day long, these are things I tell myself and others.

And then, a funny thing happens, usually prompted by something seemingly ordinary. I’ll look at my son, putting on his own shoes, talking to me about animals and his best friend, Colin, and the panic sets in.

How can he be this old already? Where has the time gone? It terrifies me that I have no control over it, and that I can’t keep my babies… babies forever.

Along with the despair at my inability to stop the clock, or turn back time (Cher was on to something), comes the regret of not staying in these moments more. The irony does not escape me. I spend my days willing time to speed up, and then when it does I am devastated.

My mind moves fast and in a million different directions. Even when my body stops, my mind forges ahead frantically, looking for something to wrap itself around. I’m always jumping ahead, the type of person who bites into a peppermint immediately, failing to savor it for even a moment. I always regret that.

Relaxing my body comes easily to me, relaxing my mind, a much more difficult task. I am terrible at things like yoga, which is exactly why I need them. I must find a way to stay in the moment, fully and truly. Right now I’m using one moment as a building block to get to the next. Finding a way to let these moments stand alone, is important to me. I’m just not sure how to do it.

How do I slow down my mind enough to think about the just now? It’s something I have always struggled with, but now it’s not just me anymore. I owe it to all of us, to appreciate all of it. Even those moments that are hard.

I need to stop, breathe, and soak it all in. Before it’s too late and it’s all slipped away.

The here and now is so elusive sometimes, and I need help finding it.

How do you stay in the moment?

Snoop has a new favorite sleep spot.

The train table.

You know, because it must be so comfortable.

Or because we have to put the train back together everyday to avoid a toddler meltdown.

Most likely the latter.

Such an asshole.

If he had thumbs, I’d make him do it himself.

I’ll be back later with Shit That Sucks, but right now I’m inspired to share with all my Houston area friends something that is the opposite of suck.

I’ve hired a few handy/do everything men over the past few years and have always felt either ripped off or disappointed in the work.

Usually both.

Exasperated, and having so many things in need of repair, I recently got another referral from my sweet friend, Kara.

Fourth time’s a charm?

HELL YEAH IT IS!

Don Worbington, is officially my go to guy for everything my husband can’t do around the house, which…is….lots (sorry, honey, but it’s not really your bag, baby).

It is SO refreshing to find honest, hard working, and talented these days. That’s what compelled me to write this. And because I found out he doesn’t really advertise himself. What the heck, Don!

He got everything done beautifully in two days and was so, so reasonable. I’m not used to not being overcharged. Weird.

I even asked him to marry me. He didn’t answer, so I took that as a yes.

So, this is me, telling you, that if you’re in the area and need work done – on pretty much anything – I have the guy for you.

Hit me up and I’ll give you his number.

See you soon, friends!

xo

Allison Zapata Worbington

Saturday afternoon, Luca ran inside yelling, “Come quick, mommy! There’s a butterfly outside!”

The butterfly was on the flagstone in my backyard, fluttering around, very unsuccessfully. It was obvious he couldn’t fly, so I picked him up and put him up in a safe spot, on our fence. You know, so my asshole cat wouldn’t terrorize him.

The next afternoon, having completely forgotten about the incident, I was surprised to walk outside and see him back on the ground. He’d fallen off the fence at some point and was back to performing his flutter-crash-flutter dance.

How do the strays always find me?

I ran back in and quickly asked over 3,000 of my closest friends what I should do…

And then, as I was deciding the best form of euthanasia – drop an encyclopedia on him or back over him with my car – something made me Google “Monarch Butterfly Can’t Fly.”

(Aside: I wouldn’t know shit about shit without Google.)

First, it’s amazing how many butterfly forums there are. People love their Monarchs, man. Second, I came across a number of stories about other Flightless Monarchs. And people who have taken care of them.

Shit. Damn. Shit. I’m about to have a pet butterfly, aren’t I?

Butters was pretty weak, due to lack of food or water, so I decided the first step should be to see if he would even try to eat or drink something. Then I’d decide if he should go splat or not.

And, oh, how Butters ate (and drank)…sugar water, soaked on a paper towel, and an orange.

Then, I dug up an old mesh house, the kit where you raise your own butterflies (the infomercial one – yes, I got sucked in and bought one), and, BAM! Just like that, we owned a pet butterfly named Butters. (Wtf?)

Then my stupid heart was all, “Gah, this enclosure is way too small for him. I think even the splat of death would be better than this.”

So, once again, in a desperate attempt to avoid the splat, I came up with another plan.

A plan in which I found myself at the Home Depot nursery, during a torrential downpour (the nursery section has no roof), asking three employees if they had any milkweed for my rescued butterfly. They murmured amongst themselves, and unanimously declared they had no idea what the hell I was talking about.

Ummm, alright then, FLOWERS! With Nectar! What are your best flowers with nectar?

The man pointed to an area of colorful flowers and off I went into the pouring rain. I stood before a row of them. They all looked the same to me, but for their colors. I stood there in the pouring rain, looking over my choices, like it was the most normal thing in the world to be doing.

Do do do do do, just plant shopping for my pet butterfly, Butters, do do do do do.

I turned and waved at the three employees, all huddled together under the one area with a roof, whispering to one another about the crazy girl with the pet butterfly.

All worth it when Butters got his new home, of course. A free roaming home in my office. He walks around from flower to flower, where I place drops of sugar water. He’s also into oranges and watermelons, in case you were wondering.

Yesterday, he was looking a little sad though. You know, as sad as a butterfly can look. He just kept sitting right on the edge of the window.

I thought he’d appreciate some outdoor time. So, I sat him in our flower bed and let him feel the sun and wind on his perfectly imperfect wings. He sat there for five hours. Right up until the sprinklers were set to turn on.

It’s been five whole days since we met Butters.

He has become quite the internet-sensation, that guy. He’s even had his own live stream.

And, even though a lot of people, my husband included, think I’m one nut shy of whatever that saying is, Butters has also become quite the heart-sensation.

It started out as me trying to give this butterfly, who was dealt a fly-less, shitty hand in life, some not so shitty days.

It’s ending with me gaining an even greater appreciation for the value and miracle of life, big or small.

Like I asked my husband, “Would you rather be married to someone who walks right up and splats it, or the kind of person who walks right up to it and loves it?”

No, there will be no splat for Butters.

Because, that, my friends, is not in his cards.

I’m in this till the end.

(Which is supposed to be, on average, two weeks.)

(According to Google, of course.)

In the wise words of my friend, Heather…

Butters Por Vida