Busy Mom, Defined -- Part 2

A woman who must mop her floor more often that she gets to wash her hair.

 

Maybe I should try this approach.

(Photo by LIFE)

A Clean, Well Lighted Place

I have been sick.  And my children have been sick.  And  I am trying hard not to get overwhelmed by the "To Do Before Christmas" list which goes undone because I feel like doing very little.

Instead I have become obsessed with manipulating the look of my blog.  Like I am a 13 year old girl with her first myspace page.  Oh, the things we find relaxing.

I have tested out several colors, schemes, themes, pictures.  I have even found the hex codes for every color in God's green html, because the blogger colors are just not palate enough for me.  But, I have changed nothing.

Why not?  I fear cluttering it up.

My whole world is sticky, messy, cluttered chaos.  Toys, dishes, and stray laundry that has escaped its hamper and is fomenting rebellion amongst the linens.  I am okay with that.  My children are small.  My house is small.  My energy is sapped.  My resources stretched.  It is what it is.

But my blog...  My blog is the grown up corner of my life.  Tidy.  Kempt.  I need it like this.  Simple and controlled.  I don't need the cutest shabby blog on the boulevard.  I need a place where I can lose myself because I can find everything else.  Even if it is a bit visually boring.

So, come for the writing and stay for the writing.  That's why I come here.

As a big P.S., and since people have asked, my title picture is my mother.  It was taken by my father in 1968 on the day of her graduation from college.  It was his idea to pose her in front of the stove.  Probably not a good sign, in hind sight.  But, I like the picture because it seems to sum up my life.  Educated housewife.  Unlike my mother, who was a chemist and is still the most brilliant person (not just woman) I know, I prefer the kitchen.  And, she is pregnant with me, so it's kind of like I'm in it.

Okay, this picture is just gratuitous, but have you ever seen a cuter baby?

History

Theme Thursday -- History

This is a work of fiction.

There was a man in front of me in line at Target talking to his young daughter.  She had on tights with mulit-colored horizontal stripes.  I remember them because I would love to wear a pair just like them, if I were not 37 and they would not look ridiculous on me.

There was something far-away familiar about the timber of his voice.  Familiar enough to make me look up from this weeks tabloid magazine covers.  (Boy, is that Tiger Woods in some trouble!)

I glanced.  His eyes caught mine.  And lingered.  Just a split second too long.  It happened like a flood.  Recognition.  Mine and his.  The far-away familiarity replaced by the vividly intimate.  How long had it been?  Twenty years?  Really?  That should feel like a long time, but it does not, standing there, exposed, in the check out line at Target, flashes of teen-aged pain and drama blurring my vision.

My fingers went to ice and my face to fire.  I looked away quickly.  Back to Tiger.  My face still burning.  Struggling to steady my breathing.  Panic!

There was nothing I could do but wait my turn, pay for my toothpaste and toilet paper, and move along as if nothing had happened.  As if the most humiliating and painful experience of my life was not standing in front of me, wearing a Cal sweatshirt and a wedding ring, buying toothpaste and toilet paper.

As he was leaving, just putting his bags in his cart, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, him turn to me, as if to say something.  I waited a beat too long.  When I looked up, he looked away.  And then it happened.

He looked me straight in the eye and gave me a wan smile.  I returned his with a weak smile of my own.  My eyes closed, involuntarily, and I felt the ancient history pass between us.

This is a work of fiction.

Afternoon Snack

We've been playing with our food. 

These are Cinnamon Schoolbook Cookies from Trader Joe's.

This is a baby covered in spaghetti. 

My Morning Smile

I love this mug.  It makes me smile every morning before I embark on my illustrious career, scrubbing toilets, changing diapers, cooking meals for little people who won't eat them.  You know.  The usual.

I'm only doing this job to keep myself busy between films.

An old boss gave it to me.  I tried not to read too much into that.  She also said I should be a stand up comedian.  And she wasn't the first boss to suggest this.  I tried not to read too much into that either.

This isn't my first "morning smile" routine.  Years ago, I had a sunshade for the windshield of my car.  One side had a picture or something, but the other side said in huge red letters.  HELP NEEDED.  CALL POLICE.  Well, I worked at the police department.  I got the biggest chuckle out of parking my car facing the street putting up the "call police" side of my sun shade.  Okay, maybe the chuckle wasn't very big, but it was a chuckle.  That is the most we can ask of some mornings, isn't it?

Toast O.E. and the Toddler Menace

Every book we own, every movie, every CD, every video game, is hidden away.  Hidden, in plain sight, on the various and sundry shelves that we, like all new marrieds, seem to have acquired through our adult lives, and still retain for their utility, not their style.  While the various media are out in the open,the shelves themselves are locked away in our bedroom.  Why?  The toddling menace that is Samuel, that is why.

 Samuel as Woody

 We have toddler-proofed the door to our bedroom, and he is very seldom left in there unattended.  Or, even attended if I can help it, because the kid is, as I have mentioned, a menace.

One of the few exceptions is if I need to shower.  It is generally true that my bathing activities, like those of most mothers with small children, are usually relegated to the wee dark hours, while the children still sleep.  But not always.

A few months ago, was one of those exceptions.  Jonah was at school.  Hubband was at work.  Sam and Cate were underfoot.  And, Mommy needed a shower.  I can't remember the occasion, but it must have been something big because I needed to shower, shampoo and shave -- the Housewife Triple Crown.

I just had to go for it.  Bathe as quickly as I could, let him make a mess, and clean it up later.

I would like to pause here to address those parents who will inform me that I don't need to live like this.  There is a way to train ones children to immediate obedience every time.  Using a switch, a wooden spoon, or a cattle prod.  To these parents, I say...This is true.  But it is time consuming.  And traumatic.  And hardly seems worth it for some dusty old books, and a VHS copy of Tequila Sunrise.  I save this sort of training for the truly dangerous.  So, back to a few months ago, and my shower, worthy of an audience with the Queen. 

"Sam, Mommy needs to take a shower.  Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Toast O.E.  Toast O.E."

"Toy Story it is.  Now be a good boy, and stay on Mommy's bed."

With Samuel thus distracted by Buzz Lightyear and his friends, and Catie, only 10 months old at the time, on the floor with her favorite toys, I make a mad dash for the shower.  I peeked out every few minutes to find Samuel still sitting where I left him, on my bed, watching Toast O.E.  This is going very well.  Fingers crossed.

When I got out of the shower, he was still there, happily watching his movie.  It's been awhile since he has been in here, I thought.  Maybe he has finally out grown this particular brand of curiosity.  Oh, happy day!  

I stepped all the way into the room to find books and movies strewn everywhere, and little Catie looking up at me with the cutest little hey-mommy-look-what-I-did smile.

The toddler menace torch had passed.  Oh. happy. day.

Samuel

Here is a collage I made from a photo of my son Samuel, 3.

I tried it out as my title photo for part of the day, but I don't think is suits the blog as well as the lady cooking in her cap and gown, so she is back for those of you who noticed her missing.  But, I liked this look at Samuel too much to just take him down all together.

He is a great, quirky kid.  I imagine that this might be how he sees us.