I’m having a rough day today. I’m just putting that out
there, because so many times we try to hide our imperfect suburban interiors
behind a façade of Polly Sunshine hair and makeup, paired with the perfect stay-at-home
Mom Outfit—donned in chic boots, the ultimate denim, and a crisp blouse,
accessorized by scarves, smiles and all that shit Whatever.
It’s just not there for me today.
(Total aside, I
actually hate blouses. I find I always
have to use some double-sided basting tape to make sure the spaces between the
buttons don’t gape open. Stupid. On the upside, I’m glad that tape exists.)
I’m starting to freak out a little about my whole
purpose. My kids are getting older. I have a college degree and no paid job. I am a Mom.
Usually, I think that’s enough. I *know* I am fortunate to be able to be
home with my kids—it’s a choice I’ve made.
My kids are smart and kind and wonderful, even on their worst days. I like to think I play a hand in who they are
becoming.
But, while they are at school, my days are filled with
grocery shopping, house cleaning, laundry, figuring out how to make my
sometimes-crazy dog be less of an ass.
Ok, right now it’s
filled with me pouring out my emotional upheaval into a Word document. Cheaper than therapy, right? Laundry can wait
a few minutes. Apparently so can a shower.
Don’t judge.
Then, the kids come home from school. We smile and say hello, ask each other about
our days. I fill my afternoons and evenings with what feels like taxi-driving
and nagging. Did you get your homework done?
Wipe off the countertops! Time to
shower—and use shampoo on your hair and soap on your body. Yes, I mean that. (Yes, these are things I have actually
uttered). Who didn’t wipe off the countertops?! Seriously, I’m not the maid! My voice sometimes gets louder as the day
grows shorter.
That’s where my college degree has gotten me. I’m a
glorified, unpaid maid and taxi driver, whose biggest perk sometimes feels like
some pretty awesome hugs at the end of a long day, if I’m lucky.
Now that I’ve spun off topic, let’s get back to my rough
day. My oldest is at the point of
looking at colleges. She has zero idea of where she wants to go. Well, she has some ideas—and they are all
quite spectacular and respectable. She’s
got a brilliant mind—I truly believe she is capable of anything, once she finds
her voice and her confidence. She’s got
an amazing heart. Put the mind and the
heart together—what a package.
But we are in that middle ground of not qualifying for
need-based financial aid and not making enough that we can afford to send her
to whatever school she dreams to go to and still give opportunities to the
other kids in the house. Or still afford
to eat.
So I called my husband a DreamCrusher yesterday. That’s right.
I did. I kinda mean it, which
makes me glad I hold to my “speak the truth” stance but sad that I now see him
that way. He’s cautious. Sensible.
Pessimistic. A DreamCrusher. I want my children to dare to step away from
the comfort zone that is their home and their hometown and seek their own lives
where they want to be. I never did
that. I got married young, got my
college degree from an amazing institution, and here I am. I let my husband’s fears and hesitant nature
guide where we lived and what we’ve done for the past 20 years.
Back to my rough day: I’m thinking I should
find a job, just to pay for my children’s education and opportunities beyond
education between now and college. I don’t
know how on earth I can work full-time and manage what I do around the house—especially
once 3:00 p.m. strikes and the bus brings home the kids. I’d have to use some of my income to hire a
driver to get them to where they need to be.
I’m exhausted with the feeling of Mom is Last. I know there are countless blogs and words of
wisdom out there saying to put yourself first.
Whatever. How do people succeed
in doing that? My JOB right now is to
put my kids first. To not be the
DreamCrusher.
My head is spinning with all of the thoughts and have-to’s
in my head. All of the things currently
not getting done because I’m sitting here writing. I’m not making sense, even to myself. Yet I have a feeling some of you will be able
to relate.
Tomorrow will be another day. Hopefully not with me feeling just as shitty
though.
No comments:
Post a Comment