I have friends that tell me how lucky I am. And I am, don’t get me wrong I know, but not for the reasons they think. These friends’ (working Mommies, every one) eyes glaze over as they wistfully tell me how they too wish they could stay at home with their kids and be Mommy. They wish they had the free time to devote to cleaning, and cooking, and teaching their children the kinds of things that Mommy is supposed to teach her kids because Mommy has SO much free time that MOMMY CAN DO THINGS LIKE THAT!
I understand their theory. They envision sleeping in every morning, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper while their children munch Cheerios. They think their days will be spent having playdates with other impeccably groomed Mommies at the park with their well mannered, pink faced little kiddos. They dream of preparing gourmet meals for their appreciative spouses, in their sparkling clean, germ free/allergen free homes. They think about leisurely bedtime stories
with their sleepy babes and passionate nights with their rugged husbands. Fact is I used to subscribe to that theory too, before I became Mommy. Now I just try to keep the chaos of living with three children under the age of four, from spilling out onto the street. I daydream about the days before the madness, before I lost my mind.
with their sleepy babes and passionate nights with their rugged husbands. Fact is I used to subscribe to that theory too, before I became Mommy. Now I just try to keep the chaos of living with three children under the age of four, from spilling out onto the street. I daydream about the days before the madness, before I lost my mind. My husband and I have clocked serious hours remembering what our lives were like PC (Pre Children). When fine dining meant stars, wine lists and table linens, not clowns and fluorescent lighting. When we could buy things without choosing which child doesn’t get to eat this week. When we had friends, who were not just theoretical; we actually saw them on a regular basis. Now an email serves as meeting for coffee. I haven’t lunched in two years. And the idea of cocktail hour somewhere makes me all tingly and a little light-headed.
PC my husband and I always believed that there should be three sections in a restaurant--Smoking, Non-Smoking, and Non-Children. It irritated us when people brought their children to fine dining establishments and movie theaters, especially movie theaters! We would watch in utter disgust as the mini-van from hell, pulled up to the front of the movie theater; successfully bringing traffic to a screeching halt, because they are effectively blocking both lanes of traffic simultaneously. Several pre-teens, in baggy shapeless attire, would emerge from the van while the parental unit driving would sheepishly glance around. The van door would then slam shut and that mini-van would peel out of the parking lot, laying rubber for fifteen feet. Now my husband, I and any other adult-type person became in charge of the mob. We’d spend the remainder of our night out baby-sitting without pay and ducking food being pitched at out heads.
Three children later I understand the need to escape. I’ve considered leaving a ten year old Boxer in charge and fleeing. Jail time doesn’t scare me. A vacation would be nice. I’m just afraid no one would notice I’d left, and upon my return I’d have one hell of a mess to clean up.
