"Mama, you look tired,"Cosette observed recently, first thing in the morning. Mind you, she made this comment BEFORE I had even ingested one sip of coffee, but AFTER I had served up a stack of 72 hot and fluffy pancakes that she and her sisters devoured for breakfast. Damn right, I'm tired, sister.
Seeing the opportunity for a teachable moment, for my daughter to be truly grateful for EVERYthing I (and all Mama's) do on a daily basis, I asked openly, "Well Cosette, what things does Mama do that would make her tired?" I also thought that referring to myself in the third person, would really drive the point home.
Not a chance.
"Well, Mama, I don't know. You relax in the sun, get on the computer, and yell a lot." According to my four year old, I am living a charmed life. What the hell do I have to complain about, right? And I most certainly, should NOT be tired. Think about it: I don't really DO much.
I vividly remember having a similar conversation about eight years ago with my therapist. Before becoming an at home mom, I was the ultimate List Maker. I was accustomed to teaching 33 sixth graders, while coordinating lesson plans, field trips, report cards, and hormones, you know? I got stuff done! I had my list, and nothing made me feel better, than checking off those boxes. I equated it to a job well done.
An aspect I didn't see coming when I stayed home in the beginning, was that I did the saaaaaame thing day after day. As soon as I would stock the fridge with food (check), it was empty again. As soon as I put away washed and folded laundry (check), dirty clothing filled the basket. I would vacuum, (check) only to have the dog bring the backyard INTO the house, five minutes later.
I felt like a hamster on a wheel. No boxes to check off. Just an eternal, never ending pit of monotonous chores....with no real sign of progress.
"When does it end? I feel like I'm going slowly insane. I never get anything accomplished," I confided to my counselor, "If I have to fill up one more sippy cup, I swear...."
"Sure you are getting things accomplished," she assured me, "It's just that the list has changed, and it doesn't look like it used to, Michelle. It's not like you "seal a deal" on a daily basis. Or that you get a raise for your hard work. The list has changed. These are boxes that can no longer be simply checked off at the end of the day. You are raising your girls...it is an immeasurable task."
For the first time in a looong time, I felt validated. As Oprah would say, I was having an "A-ha" moment.
And the other thing I would soon find out was this: the chores I dreaded with their simplicity and monotony like filling sippy cups, handing out Goldfish, and going to the park, would soon be missed after my girls started school. The lovely days of naps and Elmo, were soon replaced with homework and book report due dates.
So I have learned that although the stage I am currently enduring with my kids may seem as though it will never end, it does. And it is usually followed by a mourning period, because now I understand their youth is slowly ticking away on the clock. And I can't do a damn thing to stop it.
What I CAN do is focus on being in the moment with them.
Even when I wish it would end because it's soooo hard. When one child is labeled GATE as the other is labeled ADHD. When I wonder the next time my husband and I will have the time and money to go on a date night. When I just don't have the answers. And neither does Google.
So now my list includes activities like taking the girls outside for a hike/bike ride/or swim (relaxing in the sun); or taking care of myself by venting on my blog (being on the computer); or trying to raise my girls without totally going insane (yelling a lot).
In all honesty, Cosette just answered my question the way she sees things. Her perspective is open for interpretation, that's all. I was expecting her to list all of the things I do for her, but the truth of the matter is this: it's what she and her sisters do for ME, that makes me a better Mama, wife and friend.
I'm just hoping that the next time one of my kids throws me under the bus, I will have at least had a cup of coffee.
and you read a lot of smutty magazines
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