May 3, 2011 by themommahen
Allow me to pre-empt myself and say that this week, the breaking news was pretty remarkable. I’m obviously not trying to compete with that, nor am I going to pretend that you came here to read my take on OBL, UBL or whatever hashtag you’ve been following. Let me just give a shout-out to all those who have served and/or continue to serve our country.
Breaking news in my household today is as follows:
I made a big pot of mashed potatoes.(They were supposed to be potato salad, but I cooked them too long.)
I made a big pot of potato salad. (Have I mentioned that I’m a perfectionist? I set out to make potato salad, I’m making potato salad, dammit!)
I hate peeling potatoes.
The chickens have graduated to an outdoor penned-in area. They will free-range once they get full grown but for now the fence is for their protection.
Hatchling #3 is finally getting into a schedule with a morning nap, afternoon nap and usually a short third nap. (Hey new moms – those books that tell you this happens between 4 and 6 months of age? Yeah, whatevs. Mine have always been closer to six or seven.) Before you congratulate me, please know he’s also engaging in marathon cluster feeding all night long.
I did a load of laundry. Please note this means I put the clothes in the washer. I turned the washer on. I added my eco-friendly Whole Foods store brand detergent. I closed the lid. I walked away. I moved it to the dryer and did all the steps needed to start it. That is all. The husband will tell you he did not marry me for my folding skills. I don’t even have folding ambition.
I am not a good housewife.
Sorry, that was hatchling #1. She really likes to type, having been spoiled by Granny on her ancient electric typewriter. She’s at my side right now jumping up and down telling me “you HAVE to share, Mommy. That’s what you tell me.” So how could I argue with that?
I think she’s giving me a message though. That I should STOP before I go down that road of telling you what a bad housewife I am. Before I tell you how many baskets of unfolded laundry there are scattered around the house. How I haven’t even taken the clean clothes out of the suitcase we used last weekend when we made a short trip to the beach. Not this past weekend, mind you, the one before. And how I haven’t been able to get the kids in bed before 9pm any night the past two weeks (my addled brain can only remember the last two weeks, it may actually be longer) because I can’t seem to get supper started before 6pm.
All those things are true, and maybe I should beat myself up about them. But life’s too short, I keep telling myself. I can’t get these days back, the ones before I have kids in school and before the schedules get really out of control (I mean so what if last Saturday we raced from soccer to tee ball so H#1 could play in both games. Or that there are two (yes TWO) tee ball practices and a game this week. Through my friends with tweens and teens, I’ve seen my future and it just gets more hectic.
A few days ago I committed the cardinal sin of parenting – I wished time away. I wished it away. I actually said something immature and bratty like “Well, I guess I won’t get to do what I want today. I will some day in the future, but not today.” Okay, it doesn’t sound as bratty and childish to me as it did that day, so just take my word for it. No, it’s not the worst thing I could have ever said. But as soon as the words left my lips I wanted them back. Because time doesn’t need to be wished away – it already goes at lightning speed. And it never slows down.
So I have all three hatchlings right now demanding my attention. #1 wants to go get in with the chickens. #2 just woke up from his nap. #3 wants to get out of his jumping thing. If I had my way, I’d continue writing, but I think I’ll take the advice from the mouth (or fingers) of my babe and STOP.