I know, I know, I said it…housewife…it's a bad word…however, rather than get into a debate on whether stay-at-home mom is any better (honestly, I really don't give two bon-bons about labels) say what you want, just, don't call me desperate.
Unless, we're all out of coffee AND milk [shiver] or, the microwave explodes AND takes the toaster with it.
What? It can happen, trust me.
Aaaaanyway, I work from home…BAH!…there I go again…okay, so, like do working moms stop working, you know, once they get home from work?
Color me confused (preferably, in a soft and slightly muted tone, like, heather gray) but, I thought we were ALL passed the, I know you are, but what am I, sort of thing.
I worry about my children. What? You, too!?!? Oh, thank goodness, because I thought parents of preschoolers were the only ones allowed to, you know, NOT know what they are doing.
You see, once I became a parent (i.e. someone's mother, not apparent, like in an easily noticed sort of way) I was told (by other parents) when my children hit kindergarten (i.e. started school full-time, not hit, like in a smack with a hammer sort of way) that my job was, you know, DONE!
And I believed them.
After all, having raised 4 babies, to toddlerhood (yes, it's a word!) and beyond, it IS hard work (and I mean that in every sense of the word) heck, I've got the eye baggage to prove it.
"Have a GREAT day at school, Sweetie!!!"
[pumps fist into air]
"WHOOT…WE DID IT!!!"
Yes, I actually played that scene, just like that, over and over again (in my head) and when that 1st day of school FINALLY came, well…
"WHOOT!!!"
…yah, it was pretty much like that.
"Ummmm…now what?"
Figuring out what to do with myself was never really an issue (not with ANOTHER kid, at home) until my youngest hit started full-time kindergarten and…well…you know.
"What are you going to do with your day? "
Et tu, Garth (not his real name?)
Oh, I was very happy and not just because my husband took me to breakfast that fateful morning.
Right now, those of you who know that Hope is in the 4th grade (I think!) I bet you're wondering, you know, how DO I remember that, right?
Well, I read the rest of my post (because, well, I am my BIGGEST fan) and this is the part that got me, but good:
"I've got tons of stuff to do…there's a pile of mail on my desk
that I need to go through…not to mention laundry…and tons of stuff
that don't fit the kids…I need to sift through…before changing over
the closets for the fall…and I've got to organize their
rooms…better…before I can do that…which reminds me…I've got to
get the garage cleaned out…before I can finish renovating the
kitchen…and re-finish the dining room…I was hoping to start this
past summer…but, not before I finish wallpapering our room…I
started…three years ago…oh, crap…but, I'll have finish painting
Little Man's room, first…and…um…are you okay, Hon?"
Long story, short (you're welcome!) my husband's eyes glazed over and then, well, he went to work.
So, what's my point?
[rolls up sleeves]
Although my writing HAS changed (sort of):
there's a pile of mail on my desk I need to go through (it'll be there tomorrow)
not to mention laundry (it NEVER ends)
2 of my kids have stuff that don't fit (boys don't care and the girl can borrow stuff from the other 2)
closets haven't been changed (good thing, it's gonna be 90 degrees tomorrow)
garage isn't cleaned out (because, we're STILL not finished renovating the kitchen)
kitchen is STILL not renovated (see above)
dining room STILL needs refinishing (because, my room STILL needs wallpaper, the boys room painting… etc…)
Why? Because, I'm STILL busy worrying about AND still doing OTHER stuff for my kids…dammit!
[crosses arms]
Why am I telling you ALL this?
[rolls eyes]
Okay, so once YOUR kids are in school full-time and folks begin telling YOU that, you know, your job is done…don't worry about it!
Happiness is…your family. They're the people you love.
Then, they learn how to write and, well, all that pretend laughing you did seems to have paid off.
Until, you turn to the page.
Happiness is…an Xbox.
Doesn't matter that in 2006 (when my son wrote this entry into his 1st grade book binding project) we did NOT even have an Xbox.
Happiness is…friends. I like to have play dates with them.
Or, that we don't have any machetes (not in the house, anyway) or, swords [looks closer] okay, but it's a PRETEND light saber!
[heavy sigh]
Either way, a teacher once told me (please, don't ask me which one; we're talking approx. 80 parent teacher conferences, over here):
I'll believe half of what your child tells me about you, if you believe half
of what your child says about me.
Until, my son (he's in 6th grade, now) showed me his homework – write a set of directions; it could be how to get to your house, of a recipe, or how to play a video game – and guess which one he picked? Go ahead. I'll wait.
This Full House (the game) Directions: You have my mom and you must walk around picking up clothes to put in the laundry. While the clock is ticking down you must put more and more clothes in to add on time. If time runs out you lose!
At least, he got this one right and, well, his penmanship has improved, considerably, don'tcha think?
[sound of crickets chirping]
So, um, anyone heard any good knock knock jokes, lately?
[blows bangs out of eyes]
'Cawse, next week is back-to-school night (4 of them, to be exact) and I got nothin'!
Would you believe, I was a REAL "Boy, she has it ALL together" type mom? Once. YES, I WAS, DAMMIT! You wouldn't know it now [blows bangs out of eyes] but, I even used to bake my kids homemade birthday cakes.
"That was the doctor's office."
Now, they consider themselves very lucky if I remember their birthdays…at all.
"She says we are WAY over due on our well visits."
I was supposed to take them in August. It's STILL September, right?
"Fine."
So, I added, "call pediatrician," to the monstrosity that is my to-do list; nevermind, try to find an empty space on the calendar.
What? Yours, too?
[shakes head]
Aaaand, it's only September, right?
"I left you a note on your laptop."
Now, I have to write stuff on 2 calendars and then punch it into my cell phone, just in case, you know, I forget to look at the calendar.
"And I sent you a text."
10 years from now, however, my children will undoubtedly remember their mother as being a discombobulated mess.
"Thank you."
What they fail to see, however (along with the wet towels left to ferment along the bathroom hallway) is, in my discombobulatedness (yes, it's a word!) I have played an important role in teaching them good organizational skills.
"Um…where is my cell phone?"
Aaaand, keeping them motivated in practicing those skills.
"It's probably in your car, Mommy."
Probably. Since, I spend most of the time, sitting in it, or driving it (mostly, sitting) especially, this time of year.
"I left you a note…too…bye…LOVE YOU!"
My 9 year-old, being the youngest of 4, is also advanced proficient in self-preservation and, after almost 10 years (or more, I forget) of fighting our way in and out of carpool lanes (i.e. they ARE the devil) the kid's got the stop, drop and ROLL thing down to a science!
"I love…"
Too late. She was out of the car and passed the bus lane. 3 seconds more and I could have saved the kid a couple hundred bucks worth of therapy.
"She NEVER could say I love you!"
[heavy sigh]
Then, I found her note.
Aaaand, well, you know. Yes, my brain is mush. But, I kind of, sort of, love the fact that my kids leave me little love notes…just like the ones I used to send…in their lunch bags.
Until, I read the second one.
Apparently, she really, really, really, really, really, really wants to be able to use the gift card…she got for her birthday…way back…in June.
It is STILL September, right?
[shrugs]
So, along with the fact that the gift card is good until June of 2012 (thankyouverymuch!) I added a little note of my own.
"I love you too, sweetie and good luck getting your card back!"
[eyes go wide]
What? So, I'm a discombobulated mess (DAMMIT!) but, I am NOT stoo-pid, you know?
Playing the concentration game, on the fitness trail, while being bombed with acorns by militant squirrels, it's a gift.
Balance. Either you have it, or you don't. Then again, maybe you're one of those people who, over the years, have taken one too many nose dives into the asphalt and learned to NOT over-complicate a situation by, you know, wearing shoes.
[sound of crickets chirping]
No? Okay. Perhaps you're one of THOSE people who stop, look back and are all like…WHOA!…did you see that?!? Then swear that it came straight out of the ground (whatever it was) grabbed you by the ankles and, you know, face meets asphalt, the end.
[cricket]
Allllllrighty then.
"Shouldn't you be wearing shoes?!?"
Me? I used to wear heels. Until, I had kids. Now, I have enough trouble strutting my stuff on the sidewalk (without falling down) or, maybe it's my bohemian roots, beginning show (among other, more grayish ones, I mean) and perhaps, I should just change my name to Agador Spartucus.
"Shoes make me fall down!"
Who knows? Since turning 40-something-or-another (closer to another, if you must know, DAMMIT!) maybe, I'm just getting back in tune with the earth (ahem!) like that hippie dude on Dual Survival and his…um…friend…who sort of remind me of an old married couple (cough!) with kids (cough, cough!) but, DAYUM if they don't make for entertaining television.
Hey. Hang on. There's a novel idea. Perhaps I should start evangelizing the benefits of "barefoot parenting!"
You know, I can be the minimalist and primitive skills expert, trained in counterbalanced living and suburban preparedness…like, yes, she's texting (AGAIN!) but, they ARE outside and what if one of them breaks an arm, or something, right?
With 17 years of combined tween and teenage survival experience…like, yes, he's wearing low rise, skinny-something-or-another…but…um…at least, he's NOT playing a video game, right?
Balance. It's ALL a matter of perspective. Sure, I can insist he pull his pants up (DAMMIT!) then again, this picture wouldn't be half as funny and, more importantly, just fade into yet another missed opportunity in increasing my "Break curfew again, bub and I'll show your girlfriend," arsenal, to boot!
"Um, mom?"
Maybe THEN the Discovery Channel will give me my OWN show!
"Mom?"
Aaaand, I will FINALLY get to go to an island!
"Mommy?"
Where no one cares who you are (or, aren't) where you are from (originally) and that you weigh more than what's on your driver's license (ahem) or, that you've worn white (AFTER Labor Day) with pink underwear (cough) and forgot to shave your legs, AGAIN!
"Mom?"
Oh, but there IS a bed (dogless, catless, hairless and MATCHING pillows) a VERY large bathroom (with a double sink) with room service (a sun-kissed-20-something-or-another with, dark eyes and a wicked tan) giving you undivided attention and an endless supply of fruity cocktails…FOR FREE!
"Mommy?"
Aaaand maybe then (and ONLY then) will the tired, frustrated and gravity-challenged parents of the world (like me) truly unite and achieve GREATNESS!!!
"Mooooommeeeee!"
[blink, blink]
"It's okay that you're driving in your pajamas, right?"
Except on Mondays, then ALL bets are off, DAMMIT!!!
I love the beach this time of year. The fresh, salty air is a bit chillier, which makes the water seem much, much warmer and, well, most of the Bennies (i.e., the cast of the Jersey Shore, mostly, ironically enough) have ALL gone home.
"When was the last time we were at this beach, again?!?"
I get it. I was young, once (shuddup!) and could NOT wait for Friday nights, in the summer, when we'd head down the Parkway to Seaside Heights and/or Wildwood Crest and sneak into bars study the bible, ALL weekend long!
"I remember, Momma, it was when we showed Dana the ocean!"
Glen's 1st trip to the boardwalk — Jenkinson's 1999
It really is just the right size for little ones; ALL tuckered out by nap time (me, too) and we'd be loooong gone by the time the Jersey Shore night life, you know, woke up.
"I thought that ride was SO MUCH bigger!"
Then, before you know it, YOUR kids meet the maximum 48 inches to ride and, well, you know, you can't go back.
"Can we get zeppoles?!?"
Yesterday, however, was a GREAT day to get out (considering, September also translates to, "school holiday," in Jersey!) and housewife is such an oxymoron, dontchathink?
Mmmmm….the view inside a big bag of zeppoles (pronounced as zep-poh-leez) or, fried dough, drowning in powdered sugar, if you're NOT from Jersey.
"Noooo, I want funnel cake!!!"
Mmmmm…of course…(or, auf-cawse, if you're from Jersey) there's ALWAYS room for funnel cake!!!
"Wanna eat it on the beach?!?"
Bet you did NOT know we had palm trees, or blue skies, here in Jersey, right? Are they real? You know, I really don't know.
"This was really an AWESOME day, Momma!"
What we DO know is that there's SO MUCH more to Jersey than what some reality t.v. shows would care to admit, sort of.
"Too bad you ran outta money for the rides!"
Of course, it most likely will not be the one that my kids remember but, let's NOT go there…just yet…m'kay!?!?
Next week, my husband Garth (not his real name) and I will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary.
Married. 20 years. To each other.
Inconceivable, considering I've only just turned 29, again (ahem!) but, how did we get here?
"Look, we found a box of old photos!"
Because, I've never been really very good at finishing what I start (cough!) and 2 out of 4 of their baby books are actually, you know, finished.
"Who's that?"
My dad. My mom. My grandmother. They ALL looked so young. I managed to hold onto it (barely) but, couldn't stop my hands from shaking when I remembered who must have taken the picture.
"Why does Papa look so sad?"
My grandmother was married to a very (and I mean VERY) abusive man (in the worse sense of the word, really) so, I can IMAGINE what my father was thinking at that very moment.
"I think he was maybe just nervous."
With good reason. My father had a tumultuous relationship with HIS father-in-law (which, happened to be on a good day) and, well, the decision to move in with his in-laws must NOT have been an easy one, either.
"Was she married?"
Growing up, in that house, however, was MUCH worse.
"Who?"
Still, ALL parents fight…right?
"Your grandmother."
Especially, with their in-laws…no?
"She was married, but then she got divorced."
Granted, I don't remember my friends ever talking about the police being called out to their grandparents' houses.
"For how long?"
Not as often as they visited mine, I mean.
"How long, what?"
Then, there was silence.
"How long was she married?"
Days and days without talking to each other.
"40 years, I think."
Doesn't matter. After a while, it all becomes a BIG blur anyway and, well, I just never dreamed it could be, or would be…any different…for me.
"She was married twice as long as you and daddy!?!?"
20 years. Married. To each other.
"Are you going to do something special for your anniversary?"
Inconceivable, indeed.
"Yeah, we're gonna stay married!"
Frankly, the man of MY dreams was WAY different.
"That's NOT funny, mom!"
Thank you, Garth (not his real name) for NOT being that man!!!
I still remember that fateful day, when my husband Garth (not his real name) and I nervously sat down at the conference table, distracting the lawyer long enough to hand us each styrofoam cups of stale coffee and, between the 3 of us, was the only one able to hold a pen steady enough to sign the papers.
"I think I'm gonna throw up!"
I was a few weeks pregnant with our first daughter (commuting, while under the influence of gestation, sucks wet poodle, btw!) and, well, WE WERE BUYING OUR FIRST HOUSE!
"You're young, yet, there's still time."
The lawyer, who seemed very well-versed in the matter, insisted that investing in a starter home was the way to go and that our timing could NOT have been better.
"As long as you move before the kid starts kindergarten!"
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, 2 refinances and 1 doofus-dawg, later (give or take a couple of goldfish) both my husband and I have FINALLY accepted the fact that we are, you know, totally screwed.
"Wow, it's a lot bigger than I thought!"
If I had a dollar for each time a repairman has said that to me, well, I'd be able to park my car in the garage, by now.
"We get that, a lot."
Not to mention, folks who are surprised to find that our house, you know, looks A LOT different…on the inside.
"Doing some work, I see."
It's not like we have this thing for
dry wall (although, after a while, you DO sorta get used it) but, after
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, etc., etc., other stuff has taken priority
(like, you know, food) and, well, there's ALWAYS something, right?
"How long have you been renovating?"
This particular repairman, however, seemed to be genuinely interested.
"Let's see, um, about 17 years."
The poor guy stopped laughing as soon as he realized that I was, you know, serious.
"Uh-huh, so, okay, I'm done here, buh-bye."
Granted, it's not the smallest house on the block (my 103 year-old next door neighbor has owned that title for, well, over 100 years, now) and, with a few of gallons of paint (give or take a couple of barrels) or, a VERY LARGE construction crew, looking for some pro bono work, who knows?
"Um, did you back-flush the pool, today?"
Because, you see, these days, I am the Queen of Denial AND Supreme Back-flusher!
"Why?"
Then, I remembered….that I forgot…to turn the shut-off valve, you know, back on.
"You burned up the motor!"
Long story, short (you're welcome!) that same day, we also ended up taking my car into the shop (it was either that, or never be able to make a left turn, ever again!) and that little bit of money I just got paid (because, you know, I do work, sometimes) uh-huh, I'm sending one of the Pep Boys on a lovely vacation…this summer.
"You owe your father a cup of coffee."
Apparently, my dad made a big stink about paying for the new pump in the pool store and, well, I owed the man a piece of cake AND dinner for the next 2 weeks, too.
"Why are you ALL wet?"
Apparently, the pump is a whole LOT stronger than our old one, the pressure split the out-take hose and being doused with chlorinated water, while under the influence of coffee (and cake) makes you do this:
What? Melisa thought it was funny when I told her this same EXACT story on Monday (STILL don't have my car, sucks donkey balls, btw!) or, maybe she was just humoring me, either way.
[snort]
Still, it's OUR home, the kids seem to like it and I wouldn't trade this house, or the love I felt for my husband, at that particular moment, for all the philanthropically-inclined contractors in the world.
[wipes eyes]
Okay, maybe Ty Pennington (relax, my husband already knows and he's okay with it) or one of the HGTV Dream Homes (I've been trying to win, since 2001, DAMMIT!) but, let's not open that OLD wound, okay?