Yep. That's what I'm doing right now. Not from a plastic coffee mug with a questionable lid in my van that I have to will not to spill down the front of my, again, questionable t-shirt thrown on for carpool or trips to to the post office/target/doctor's office/craft superstore/elementary school/preschool/grocery store. Rather, I'm in a quiet office with possibilities for the day quite endless (until 8pm, that is). BECAUSE GEOF GRANTED ME THE DAY OFF FOR MOTHER'S DAY!!! Does he know me or what?
From 8am to 8pm the days is mine. He headed out with the kids in the drizzle for a day at the zoo, and hopefully the weather will clear for them a bit. But if not, he assured me he would come up with alternate plans and not be back until after 8! Now don't get me wrong. I love my kids to pieces, and I am so grateful that I can stay home with them and be hands on with all the minutia of their little lives. But I'm an introvert by nature, and I just need some alone time to recharge. And I think we will all be much better off with a recharged mommy. And the kids are going to have a great time with their daddy.
I heard one of those funny "moms don't work" pieces on the radio this weekend. A couple snippets that made me laugh out loud:
"My wife goes to the bathroom. Our 2 year old clings to her knees. Using a bathroom with a 2 year old on your knees should be a rodeo event . . .When she gets back to our apartment, my wife can finally relax. She does laundry; pays bills; stays on hold with the credit card, Internet and phone companies for 45 minutes because the bill is wrong, while our 2-year-old swings from her neck like a chimp; resets the wireless service; changes diapers and light bulbs; buys food; picks up toys; cleans the fish bowl and hermit crab habitat; organizes closets; cleans what our cat coughs up; schleps to the storage locker; tries to take a shower but can't because our 2-year-old can't find her stuffed dog; picks up our 6-year-old from school and takes her to ballet; makes three meals and innumerable snacks; calls our mothers and sends them photos of their grandchildren; and wipes up milk, water and diaper spills the way Red Adair put out oil fires . . . She has four minutes a day to herself and eats only Cheerios that fall on the floor. . . Our daughters feel free to cough up and sneeze things into her hands . . . [but] she knows that in these times it's a gift to be able to be a full-time mother. You know: just to be home with the kids."
My weeks have felt like these lately (oops, there's the phone. I'm not answering...), so this day of rest for me is truly a gift. What will I do with myself? You'd think I'd have a long list ready, but I am not a list person, and I have been living off daily lists for about 3 weeks, so part of my joy for the day is to have no list. I can just go with the flow, which is the true me. I might work on some scrapbook pages. I might work on the preschool graduation slide show and dissolve into a puddle of tears. I might curl up with the pint of Karamel Sutra ice cream that is mine (ALL MINE) and watch tv. I might shop for matching size 2T and 5 sundresses for Ben's wedding. I might go to the bookstore and browse through books with more than 20 pages, no pictures and small type. I might get a People magazine and enjoy another cup of coffee. I will get a haircut and let someone else do the shampooing. I might order some pictures for the guest bedroom. I might take a nap. (oops, was this a list? i must disregard) I most definitely will miss the kids and be thankful for Geof, who knows me so well and knows all I need. And he ought to, as yesterday marked 15 years since this cute boy called me after school and asked me if I wanted to be "a thing."
And now I think it's time for a shower. Without a tiny little face and hands constantly plastered against the glass. Without those hands opening the door to ask questions or just to make sure I'm still there. Without those hands rifling through my makeup drawer and applying mascara and eyeshadow to the front of her shirt or her hair. And tomorrow, when I see that little face with shimmering blue cheeks and mascara streeks in her hair, I'll be able to smile, tell her she looks gorgeous, squeeze her tight and appreciate the blessing of being home for these kids.
I heard one of those funny "moms don't work" pieces on the radio this weekend. A couple snippets that made me laugh out loud:
"My wife goes to the bathroom. Our 2 year old clings to her knees. Using a bathroom with a 2 year old on your knees should be a rodeo event . . .When she gets back to our apartment, my wife can finally relax. She does laundry; pays bills; stays on hold with the credit card, Internet and phone companies for 45 minutes because the bill is wrong, while our 2-year-old swings from her neck like a chimp; resets the wireless service; changes diapers and light bulbs; buys food; picks up toys; cleans the fish bowl and hermit crab habitat; organizes closets; cleans what our cat coughs up; schleps to the storage locker; tries to take a shower but can't because our 2-year-old can't find her stuffed dog; picks up our 6-year-old from school and takes her to ballet; makes three meals and innumerable snacks; calls our mothers and sends them photos of their grandchildren; and wipes up milk, water and diaper spills the way Red Adair put out oil fires . . . She has four minutes a day to herself and eats only Cheerios that fall on the floor. . . Our daughters feel free to cough up and sneeze things into her hands . . . [but] she knows that in these times it's a gift to be able to be a full-time mother. You know: just to be home with the kids."
My weeks have felt like these lately (oops, there's the phone. I'm not answering...), so this day of rest for me is truly a gift. What will I do with myself? You'd think I'd have a long list ready, but I am not a list person, and I have been living off daily lists for about 3 weeks, so part of my joy for the day is to have no list. I can just go with the flow, which is the true me. I might work on some scrapbook pages. I might work on the preschool graduation slide show and dissolve into a puddle of tears. I might curl up with the pint of Karamel Sutra ice cream that is mine (ALL MINE) and watch tv. I might shop for matching size 2T and 5 sundresses for Ben's wedding. I might go to the bookstore and browse through books with more than 20 pages, no pictures and small type. I might get a People magazine and enjoy another cup of coffee. I will get a haircut and let someone else do the shampooing. I might order some pictures for the guest bedroom. I might take a nap. (oops, was this a list? i must disregard) I most definitely will miss the kids and be thankful for Geof, who knows me so well and knows all I need. And he ought to, as yesterday marked 15 years since this cute boy called me after school and asked me if I wanted to be "a thing."
And now I think it's time for a shower. Without a tiny little face and hands constantly plastered against the glass. Without those hands opening the door to ask questions or just to make sure I'm still there. Without those hands rifling through my makeup drawer and applying mascara and eyeshadow to the front of her shirt or her hair. And tomorrow, when I see that little face with shimmering blue cheeks and mascara streeks in her hair, I'll be able to smile, tell her she looks gorgeous, squeeze her tight and appreciate the blessing of being home for these kids.
2 comments:
Geof is wonderful and your words - oh how I (and all mothers, I'm sure) can relate. Enjoy!
Sniffle sniffle! Enjoy YOUR time! And really, I'm not cursing you in my head. Not me!
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