Today was a good day. Meaning: I did not belt the kids, experience a low-blood-sugar crash, fight with my husband (yet), find myself stranded with need of a bathroom, run out of gas on the Hastings hill, etc. I had enough money for pork chops for dinner and a coffee besides. In a minor and inconsequential domestic miracle my husband pulled through on hawking Playschool raffle tickets, saving the family $80. The Boy was the spirit of gentleness today, pulling my hair once and kicking me in the head with his size 5 Chuck Taylors a mere two times (nipple-biting doesn’t count in the Violence To Mama category, that’s just his “special way” of nursing).
The day is still young, however. It is entirely possible things could go to Hell from here.
Today I have officially given up on having a tidy, beautiful home when The Man arrives from work. The vampirish energy drain that a Donna Reed facade invokes is too much. Better to have dinner ready, kids clean and happy, with a few squeaky toys crammed in the couch cushions and a wet diaper in the sink. On level assessment I think my family benefits most by this as-yet-unannounced move to a more rested, well-blogged, fucked-off type of energy from their matriarch. Besides, my husband is simply amazing at caring for the wee ones in the evening while simultaneously cleaning their room, doing the dishes, whatever needs it. Don’t take my flippancy the wrong way, though; it truly makes me grieve that I can’t perform at a high level and remain emotionally present for the family; there is a not-so-buried part of me that would like my man to come home, put his feet up and get some rest.
I just want to have a small moment of silence for once again lowering my standards.
Amen.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. I think I will post a separate rant in this blog every day until then. Today I’d like to indicate to those ladies who haven’t commenced birthin’ that your first Mother’s Day is wonderful. Everyone gives you lots of love and attention and yes – perhaps you even feel in that “sacred space” of women who have done this since time immemorial. And after that first year, you can just buy your own self something, or fight tooth and nail to go out with the other girls and get hammered on G & T’s (my plan, second-year running). This will be my fourth Mother’s Day, and let me tell you besides a harried husband who already busts his sweet ass for me every day, NO ONE gives a damn or recognizes my efforts this one measly day of the year except my own mother – perversely, as she too was denied accolades in her years raising us. The backbone of our society is formed by the care (or neglect) of the hard-working bitches in the house (or at work, wherever) and people can’t be bothered to give these ladies one day of respect, foot-washing, ass-kissing, and above all, space to be themselves.
And by the way, buying a pithy Hallmark card counts for absolute pinky-dick.
Tune in tomorrow for further cheery editorials on M-day.