The Mom in the Mirror
October 21, 2011
On a scale of one to 10, how corny would it be to kick off a blog entry with expressing gratitude to a supreme diety for the fact that it is currently Friday? Eleventy hundred? Ish?
Fuck it. TGIF, man. Tee gee eye eff.
I have no idea why this week felt particularly rough, but it did. There isn't any one thing to point to and say THAT. RIGHT THERE. That's where my week went off the rails and into the realm of I hate everything and am going back to bed and I would like to see anyone try and stop me because I will fuck your shit up.
I had a cold, but got over it pretty quickly. Ezra kicked a kid at preschool, but his teacher was all, "Yeah, they're all kicking each other right now. Kids! Whattaya gonna do?" We missed the bus one morning and I yelled at Noah for refusing to put his shoes on the first seven times I asked and at Ezra for taking his shoes OFF right as we were trying to leave, but then we caught up with the bus at the next stop a block away and I felt like a jerk, especially since I drive right past Noah's school on my way to Ezra's school and the only reason I was hellbent on Noah taking the bus was because I didn't want to have to get out of the car to escort him in. Because I was still wearing my pajamas. Stretched-out, saggy-butted ones.
On Wednesday I took Noah to karate, with Ezra and Ike in tow, and as I was directing Ezra to take a seat in the back, I caught a glimpse of myself in the giant mirror that lines the room. And I had that moment, like when you turn on your phone's camera to find it reversed and reflecting the underside of your chin(s), and you're shocked to see what you actually look like, and it's about 10 years older and 100 times more homely than you look in the mirror in your head.
I was wearing makeup, but it clearly wasn't enough to mask the dark circles and pale cheeks and random red splotches. The workout pants and baggy shirt I thought looked casual but not sloppy at home...did not look like that at all, actually, but more like your standard uniform of the overwhelmed 30-something suburban mom who has completely given up. I haven't gotten a haircut since Ike was born or a color job since Blogher and the split ends and dishwater roots I've been telling myself aren't really that noticeable are, in fact, very noticeable.
It all just...showed. How little sleep I get, how much I worry, how hard I work, how often I bump myself to the bottom of the priority list because at least I can operate kitchen appliances and put on my own underwear, and I'll put clothes on and do my hair once everybody else is dressed and fed and happy and my writing deadlines are done and I reply to just a couple more emails and oops there's the baby again and it's almost time to go meet the bus again so I know! I'll just put on some black workout pants and a baggy shirt! IT'S TOTES SLIMMING.
If "TGIF" is too trite, I suppose this entry won't be improved if I include some wistful expression of the necessity of a visit to a faraway tropical locale for relaxation purposes? Because Christ, I think I need a vacation.
The thing is, I'm not unhappy. Like, at all. I love this life, this crazy minivan-full-of-many-boy-children life that I never, ever expected to be living, but oh, I'm so glad I do. Honestly, I could kind of see myself having baby after baby, if I only had a place to put them besides Ikea dresser drawers. Or enough money to keep them all in karate/braces/camp/pizza/college.
Or enough patience to promise myself that I wouldn't yell at them for taking too long to put their shoes on, thus making me get out of the car and show the world that I didn't have time to get dressed that morning, even though that was my own damn fault for not getting out of bed 15 freaking minutes earlier, because...what? I thought today was going to be the magical day when everybody puts their shoes on the first time I ask instead of the seventh? Come on.
I do wish I wasn't so tired, that I could take a nap occasionally without feeling guilty because there's so much STUFF that I should be doing, or that I didn't have to make the nightly choice between hanging out with Jason after we get the kids to bed or...sleep, maybe cramming an extra hour or two before Ike wakes up. I wish it didn't take me twice as long to look half as good as I used to. I wish Noah liked school better and I had more one-on-one time with Ezra and that Ike would stay a baby just a little longer than I know he will. I wish I had more patience, I wish those black workout pants really were as slimming as I imagine them to be, I wish I'd made a stupid hair appointment for this weekend.
I wish I wasn't such a cliche. But hey! TGIF. Amirite? Right.
PS After rereading everything I just wrote I made an executive decision and booked a babysitter for tonight. Sorry, workout pants, Mama's gonna wear herself some JEANS tonight! Provided she can get them buttoned over her Spanx.