Mother of God.
Just when I think I am being this total cynical bitch and I need to June-Cleaver myself up a bit, I see / hear of / get wind of another Mama firmly entrenched in the “How-did-I-get-to-be-such-a-doormat?” conundrum. Of course, she never asks herself that question in that exact way, because once you admit to yourself the possible current state of doormat-hood (yes, that’s a fucken word!) you realize you’re the asshole to blame. Not the kids, the in-laws, the relative sleeping on the couch, the husband’s long hours at work, the extra weight on your ass. Many women can’t bring themselves to admit their personal losses, but instead focus on their husbands’: Gee, I feel bad that my husband works all day and then he comes home to a messy house and a cranky wife… blah blah blah. Yes, honey: put yourself last, it’s worked so well for you so far. But – I don’t mean to put these women down. In truth, the few women I have diagnosed as truly giving themselves (and their marriage!) the short end of the stick are actually a boon to me. It gives me a reason to survive – somehow maintaining the balance of the universe, cracking the whip on my husband’s tender, sweet ass, as I stagger from afternoon Toddler TV Time to Bloody Mary playdate.
Am I really that bad? Only my family knows for sure (that’s them on the other computer IMing you: “Call the poliiiiice!”)
But jesting aside – it’s true I won’t know for a long time if my family is doing it “right”. Hell, I may never know. But I do know that no one should take care of me but myself. Not that no one will: but no one else is responsible. Sure, if someone wants to step in and give me a break or a little pampering (please take me to Pantyland like Sarah got today! Also, oooh! – I want a homecooked dinner every day this week without me having to cook it!). Taking care of myself helps me take care of my family. It’s surprisingly productive: life without crippling depression has its perks. My kids are doing well. My husband and I are still a team – a little damaged, a little fat from comfort / holiday eating – but still intact.
And for all you ladies reading thinking, Has all this bitter invective been referring in a roundabout way to me and my family? the answer is YES.
Moving on. I enjoy some mini-fame ’round these parts for my mix tapes (actually CDs) and I just came up with a great theme for the next one (just not sure who would want it). Remember all that “classic rock” we were subjected to growing up back in the day – on 104.7 (“The X!”) on the Harbor? – all these b.o. smellin’ old buttrock geezers singing about some barely-legal groupie that got them all fired up (this was before Viagra)? May I present: The Groldies (“grody oldies”). Would include “hits” such as AC/DCs “Shook Me All Night Long”, Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded”, Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” and The Rolling Stone’s “Brown Sugar” (don’t get me wrong – I have enjoyed dancing to each and every one of these songs at some point in my life). Ya dig it?