Pre-baby I knew how to chill, hard. I never worried about what was going on that weekend, or when I would have time to finish a novel, I just did it. If I felt like going out to eat, I did. If I wanted to skip work and head to the beach for a morning of iced coffee in the sand and swimming, I ran with it…but now I’ve got a just-about eleven month old…
And I’ve become a planner.
I used to chill hard, and now I plan er, harder. I mean it. I must drive my babysiter nuts because I plan out our week Sunday night. Example:
“So Monday I’m going to work from 10am until lunchtime or so, and than we can go grab lunch at the diner, and I want to bring Paige to the park so lets do that, followed by some work before dinner, okay? Tuesday lets plant flowers in the morning, and I’ll work for 3 hrs 45 minutes and we’ll make chicken salad with curry and apples for lunch and than Paige will nap and I’ll work and than we can go for a walk in the forest but than we’ll take a swim OR sit in the grass and talk..”
I actually plan out conversations.
What’s happening to me? I am a plan freak! The grandma borrowed Paige for the weekend and was deciding whether or not she would take her until Tuesday, she just needed to hear back form her job. Well, I called FIVE TIMES because I felt I couldn’t go on until I knew my plans. Like, if I knew I had an extra 24 hours to myself I’d probably spend more time laying around and reading, or twirling my hair…but if I didn’t I’d crack down and kick some ass cleaning.
I need help. I’m beginging to annoy the SHIT out of well, everyone.
Mike Moh is the kids’ former tae kwon do instructor who moved to LA to pursue an acting career, but he continues to teach and inspire his students through his blog. The other day, he wrote about the concept of a “Dream Board.” He described this as corkboard that you use to display your goals—like motivational sayings, or pictures of things you wish to attain through hard work. I immediately had a vision of my “Dream Board,” and tacked upon it would be a picture of my family.
A chorus of “awww” would be appropriate now, but let me explain why a photo of us together would be significant. Well, in this snapshot, all three of my kids have their heads attached to their bodies, and I’m still in the picture. Yes, my goal–my dream for the summer is to make it to the end without decapitating them or running away in the minivan with our life’s savings and a six-pack of diet cream soda.
“Quick! Dad is on the way home,” my siren like voice echoes across the kitchen, until it reaches the little people who are comfortably resting on the couch and taking in all the Sponge Bob that their little minds can handle without spontaneously combusting. This is the cue that all of my children have been trained to recognize as the signal to get off their lazy keysters and help me get the house in order before Dad walks in the front door.
You see, in our humble abode, the kids and I have a little agreement. I allow the cleaning to be carelessly tossed to the wayside while we engage in cooking lessons, educational bridging exercises, kiddie pool wading and various summer fun activities. The way I figure it, trying to keep the house clean while the kids are present and involved in the messy business of being children, is pretty much a losing battle. Choosing to fight such battles just makes for afternoons filled with nothing but bouts of hair pulling frustration and frantic attempts to erase muddy footprints with the mop before the next stampede of puddle jumpers descends upon the family room.
Why bother?
That is where my husband and I disagree. He is the advocate for preventative cleaning measures and holds the same ideals of keeping a perpetually tidy house, as every other clean freak in the nation. If he only knew how truly disgusting the house becomes every weekday, from the hours of 7:00 am until he returns home, he would probably have a conniption fit. In fact, I have to keep myself from laughing, on the weekends, when I see him anxiously twiddling his thumbs in the corner of the kitchen as he watches us leisurely go from the first meal of the day to the first activity, without so much as a sweep or table scrubbing. He can only go so long, without asking if “I’d like some help tidying up the area before it gets too bad.” Usually I will oblige his need for immediate sanitation satisfaction, but sometimes I will tell him that I’ll get to it in a minute, just for the fun of watching him pick up a towel and peevishly start scrubbing dishes. It is mean, I know. Hey…after ten years of marriage, I have to find some way of paying him back for refusing to use the laundry hamper for the disposal of his soiled garments, over and over again!
Lucky for me, the husband has a knack for finding a bigger, better more efficient way of doing event he tiniest of household chores. Then, when I finally do get around to picking up a mop, there will be a more efficient way of getting the job done, in less time! Thanks to his freakish enjoyment of inventing these methods, I have my five o’clock cleaning routine whittled down to a silky smooth forty minutes. His method even leaves me with five extra minutes to check my email and start dinner. When the mess-a-phobe…er, husband comes through our front door, he sees a clean house, a sane mother, dinner on the stove and is none the wiser. Bwahahaha! But please, keep this between us. It may ruin my ability to sneak in some occasional day time blogging and then life, as I know it, would be much less enjoyable. Shhh, it will be our little secret!
You’re either going to nod your head in agreement, or be absolutely appalled. I’m not sure if there’s an in-between. Needless to say, it’s George Carlin so there are plenty ‘o naughty words.
I used to drink. A lot. Too much, really, for someone with my family history and proclivity for creating chaos and drama. So I stopped. About 8 months ago. And life has gotten much better…. but that’s a story for another time.
Like many imperfect parents, I’m more or less a very good parent on most days… but this requires a certain amount of concentrated effort and a whole lot of help. I used to get help in a bottle, and now I get help from a variety of sources.
But I still need and want a vice.. something that serves no other purpose than pleasure and rebellion. A way to cut loose and be onesself without getting mistaken for a “ma’am” or a “sir”… or someone who is, say, turning 40.
I like to joke about starting a respite center for mothers staffed with hot Italian boys (or girls, depending on your preferences).. and I’m only sort of joking. Seriously, it’s so very easy to take parenting too farging seriously these days.
But the thing is, I miss having a vice. I don’t want anything life or health or marriage threatening, just something to spice things up and remind me of the wild girl I used to be long long ago.
I think whoever said to get a dog before having a baby was trying to abolish procreation.
Here is how my day went yesterday…
I get home from work and immediately begin running errands for three hours straight with my dog, purchasing items for my dog. First the organic pet store 20 minutes from our house. There, with my 75 pound boxer at my side, I have to haul a 30 pound bag of dog food through the store. I get to the register and have to toss the monster bag on the counter (which is conveniently about 4 1/2 feet high). After paying $50 for Hunter’s organic, all natural kibble, I haul the bag to the car. I almost fall over as Hunter lurches me backwards so he can urinate on a bush.
Obviously, I am failing to see the big picture, money wise, and for this (and my being a writer — a career path which ranks slightly lower than illegal alien bus boy in terms of financial success), I’m unlikely to ever be obscenely, or even (let’s face it) G-ratedly, rich.
Certainly, I’ll have my petty financial victories. Re-using a postage stamp that somehow missed the cancellation mark; getting an extra quarter back from an unwitting vending machine; actually remembering to mail in one of those annoying rebate forms and ultimately receiving $5 off my next software purchase (select titles, Spanish versions only).
Yet, the kind of money that allows me to, oh say, leave my house to charity and move to my Italian villa for “the season” is likely to continue to elude me.
This was painfully clear to me when I unwittingly fell into a discussion of plans for the government’s recent “economic stimulus package payment” with an investment savvy friend the other day. As he went over (and over and over and OVER) rates, points, terms, and, I don’t know, some other boring money thing, at some point all I heard was blabbity, blah, blah, blah.
Everytime we visit my brother in law, the kids are in constant need of bladder relief. Yes, they have a pool, in which my children swallow as much salt water as the equivalent of a keg. Yes, they have every kind of beverage known to man and worshipped by children, available in their fridge. No, these things have nothing to do with their frequent restroom trips. Why do they spend the majority of their time at their uncle’s house, copping a squat over the pot? This is why:
My son’s class is having a cacophonous torture session patriotic program, next week, to show case their hard work and singing talent (or lack of, in my son’s case.) As he was practicing the “Star Spangled Banner,” something dawned on me. The words in the song are extremely sentimental and rich in patriotism, yet the majority of our citizens are not. Many people who were born and raised in the good ol’ US of A, have lost (or never had) a strong sense of patriotism. They spend much of their lives complaining about the state of the union, the war, the politics. Not until a national tragedy occurs, do many of our neighbors show a sense of pride for their country. It is pretty sad that the only time I saw amore than ten vehicles display a flag or support slogan, was right after the events of 9/11. Over time, the display of support dwindled. Eventually the complaints started seeping back up through the patriotism. Election years are especially rampant with negative nellies and anti-American slurs. So, as I endured relished my son’s serenade, new words came streaming into my mind. In five painful blissful minutes of being a hostage captive audience, I formulated a new version of our beloved National Anthem. Yes, I am quite the multi tasker….I have mastered the art of pretending to listen while composing poetry, cooking, ending world hunger, etc… It comes from nine years of school performances. Here is the “new” Star Spangled Banner according to the Complainers Anonymous Club of America (aka: CACA)
Oh say can you see
that this country’s lost sight
of the values and God
on which it was founded.
Through long wars and false tongue
we are robbing our young
of a world rich in peace
and a leader who’s grounded.
And the battle for oil
lines their pockets with spoil.
Our leaders live well
from the fruits of our toil.
Oh say does our poor mangled
country cry loud
for return to our first creed
and a truth that stands proud!
While I agree that there are some changes needed and that this is not a perfect land, I still love this place. I feel privileged to live here and think that those who hate it so much, should leave.
When I was a little girl, my daddy would tell me that I had champagne taste on a beer budget. He also said that I couldn’t put a penny in my pocket without it burning a hole right through. Aside from the realization that my dad wasn’t very original in his witticisms, I learned that my love for the finer things in life, paired with the inability to save money, would stick with me throughout my teenage years and right into adulthood. Most people would get a good paying career and quench their desires to spend money frivolously. Not me. What did I do? I popped out seven kids, making it pretty damn hard to squander money on the coveted True Religion jeans that make my butt look so fantastic. Even though the demands of financially providing for so many kids make it impossible to go on shopping sprees and chug two hundred dollar bottles of 1932 vintage wine, it doesn’t extinguish my champagne taste buds from yearning for the flavor of it.
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Posted
June 29, 2008 at
9:46 pm by
Tracy 
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May 29, 2008 at
9:51 pm by
I used to drink. A lot. Too much, really, for someone with my family history and proclivity for creating chaos and drama. So I stopped. About 8 months ago. And life has gotten much better…. 
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May 29, 2008 at
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