What I really meant was...

Tonight I spoke with a friend, about my last post. She said, in different words, this is not a quote, that I sounded whiny and silly, complaining about what most people would call a very nice life. (She said it differently, but I spoke to her on my way to catch the late show of An Inconvenient Truth. I am now so rattled and upset by the film that I can barely remember what anybody at all said to me today.)

My last post did not convey what I meant it to. I did not mean to upset Gerald, nor did I intend to complain. I was trying to write about being torn between feeling happy that I have time to pursue my interests, and feeling obligated to make life as comfortable as possible for my family before I take care of me. (The gym is not relaxation, it's really work - more on that later.)

I am fully aware I am a stay-home-mother, in the new classic definition of the term. I do not work for a paycheck, and the children, the housekeeping and the organization of those two are fully my province. If I go out at night, I make sure there is a meal ready to be served, and that the pj's are set out, complete with diapers, to make the post-bathtime moment as seamless as possible. I feel torn between wanting to embrace this role of SHM and excel in it, and feeling the futility of keeping the floor clean, and the like. There are so many parts of mothering a young family that are thankless and frustrating. For instance; the frustration I feel whilst attempting to diaper a wriggling, screaming child. Or the thanklessness of watching something you have just cooked/cleaned/tidied/put away/brought home/put on getting destroyed faster than anyone can move to save it.

I love my children. I delight in their voices, their expressions, their creative play. I relish the funny and sweet and crazy things they say and do. I adore how they show they love me; I love the noisy kisses and the choking hugs. I grin ear to ear when Baby A runs to the door of his classroom and announces to the world, alto voce, “Mommy is he-ah! Mommy is he-ah!” I feel the prick of tears whenever I see Baby B’s eczema flare up – I don’t want anything to hurt my baby. I have searched and researched the entire world to find something to help him, and I finally discovered that pure, unfiltered Shea butter from Ghana works best.

I love my husband, and I appreciate all he does for me individually and for the family. He is a hands-on guy, with the children and with the house and with me. (Teehee!) He is an amazingly devoted husband and father, despite our occasional parenting style differences.

I am very happy with my little house. This is the first place I have ever felt truly at home. I feel more at home after four years here than I ever did in the New York apartment in which I lived for almost ten years. My mother owned that apartment and never let me forget it. I take great pride in the prettiness, neatness, and organization of my own house. I have done a lot of work with my own little gloved hands, and I am, for the most part, rather pleased with the results of my painting, decorating, plumbing, construction and choice of artworks.

Tonight my friend asked me if I will ever be content. If she meant to ask, will I ever feel it's not necessary to cook something, or clean something, or organize something just because I have a free moment? Will I ever just rest, read a book, watch the grass grow or sleep? Well, I don’t know. It’s my personality to always be Doing Something, if I have the time in which to do it. I inherited that restlessness from my poor mother.

She also asked if I will ever be content with myself/my body. Well, right now the answer is no. I am not happy with my physical form, and never have been since I realized, at age nine or ten, that I was short and fat and had terrible, thick legs and stumpy, flabby arms. At least, I do compared to my “perfect” mother and stick thin sister. I was, and am, fatter and shorter, and always will be. I work-out a lot in an attempt to hold the obesity at bay, but because I have self-defeating tendencies, I over-eat. I over-eat when I am frustrated by something beyond my control, like the boys toddler fighting, or the cats endless miauing to come in or go out, or the hot weather, or the neighbor’s teenager with the stinky, noisy, oil burning car. I also over-eat when I am bored. Therefore, I keep busy. In theory then I won’t have time to get bored, and therefore I won’t over-eat. In theory. In reality, I run around, and wind up having lunch in the car. I am not comfortable eating in the car. I don’t pay attention to what I eat in the car, and often over eat, just to empty the lunch box, so as not have one more thing to lug about. I pack a light lunch, which works at times, but at other times I am just so hungry, I eat some of the boys lunch too. I truly do try to organize it well, but I am not perfect. Like you didn’t know that already, right?!

Gerald wrote: “Find another therapist and investigate the use of healthy coping and people first skills. Or better yet go, get a job” This is not constructive, realistic or practical advice. My therapist is excellent, covered by my insurance and was chosen after I had seen four different people several times each. I know I cope extremely well, given the stresses of daily life with young children. I don't excel, but I definitely cope. And, if I did not have people skills I would not have friends. (Like Gerald. Du-OH!) As for getting a job, I adressed that in my comment to the aftermentioned Gerald.

I wrote that last post at a certain moment, after a long, hot day, at about 10:00 PM, when I was tired and taken for granted. It was a moment, and yes, I was whiny and silly at that moment.

I am a tired now, and had another long, hot day, which included an ill-advised trip to Chuck E. Cheese to make a friend’s child happy. No-one was happy after the visit and I got a headache. Lesson learned. Whatever the late hour, I felt compelled to explain myself more effectively, if a bit long-windedly. Is “long-windedly” is even a word? I will have to research that, when I have a free moment, of course.

I have written before about the broken finger phenomenon. If one person has broken finger and another person has a broken arm, it doesn’t necessarily hold that the broken arm is more painful than the broken finger. To the person with the broken bone, size does not matter. The pain is real and present and hurts. Yes, I have a nice life, and even an easy life, but I still feel frustration and exhaustion at times. At those times, the pain is real and present and hurts. I see I picked the wrong place and time to vent that small hurt.

I will take some time off from this blog, and get back to it later.

Au revoir.

Woof

Well, as I wrote before, the Dog Days have arrived, and I am "relaxing" and "enjoying" my "free time". I put quotes around all that because, as y'all know, so much is subjective.

Thanks to the five four-hour twin free mornings at my house, I have been able to attend to a bunch of projects - finally painting the trim in the playroom, finishing the sewing and getting those last spring plants in the ground. I have also been able to go to the gym, tidy the house AND go shopping all in the same morning, which is a treat. This sounds ridiculously obvious, but having four hours instead of three is SOOO much more time. Often, I almost feel relaxed.

Almost.

Yesterday, it was business as usual. We all woke up around 6:30, the DH and I had our breakfast, got dressed, got the guys breakfasted, dressed, and coated in sunblock, got the bags, the lunches and my list of errands in the car, and off we went. I took the fellas to school, sat in the car for twenty minutes and made some phone calls, went to the tailor to drop off some pants, took a 60 minute spin class, met with my trainer for an hour (we boxed - LOVE IT!), took a shower, coated myself with sunblock, sat in the car for twenty minutes and ate my lunch, whilst reading a book, and got the guys from school at 12:30.

Then we met some freinds at Ikea for lunch and the children ran around the store like mad. I did a little shopping myself, and around 3:30 we got in the car to go home. The guys were tired from all the running around, and I was looking forward to a few minutes of down time.

Whoops! I suddenly remembered I had a dentist appontment at 4:00! I called the DH, who met me at the dentist's office. By this time the boys were sleeping, so I thought it was nice for the DH; he'd have some time to get things done when he got home. I asked him if he was okay - he looked all pissy. He kind of grr'ed at me, "The traffic was terrible!", and took off.

I had my apppointment - no cavities - Yay! - and called home at 5:15 to let the DH know I was stopping at the crunchy granola shop to get my Stress Buster Yogi Tea. I asked what he was doing, and he said, "Laundry." I thought, how nice, did my shop, read my book for half an hour in the car, and got home by 7:00.

At home, all the boys were outside running around. The kitchen was a bit of a wreck, and the laundry was in the washer. But nothing else... I asked about the naps, and he said the boys woke up at 6:30.

Me: What were you doing for two hours?
DH: I got the laundry going.
Me: Did they eat?
DH: There is a pizza in the oven.

I can't help but think - what about the lunches for tomorrow? What about the door that needs a coat of sealant? What about the curtains that need to be hung? What about a martini for your hard-working wife?

So, today I dropped the fellas at school, came home, cleaned the bathroom, made some phone calls, organized a cake for a friend's party this afternoon, sewed up yet another pair of little pj's, folded the laundry in the dryer, hung up the wet laundry, fed the cats, cleaned up breakfast, vacummed the bedrooms and took a minute to post this.

I am a tiny bit annoyed that the DH leaves me to do all the house things, but I am a bigger part understanding. I know I do it better, faster and cleaner than he does. Besides, right now, the DH works in an office and I work at home. So, it is my job to clean, cook and sew. How nineteenth century! But in spite of therapy, reasonability and logicial thinking, I feel mixed. Should I be annoyed?

Anyway, let me post this. I need to get a coat of sealant on the door and start on the fruit salad for later. I hope I don't have any trouble getting that door off the hinges. I really hope I don't drop it either - it's kind-a heavy. And I really, really hope I don't - God forbid - break a nail. After all, part of my job description is looking good, and that is the hardest part.