When Mamma Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy
I don't know what my problem is these last few days. Well, actually, I do. My problem is that, by five o'clock, I am done. Done. As in: sit down and just eat your dinner, don't ask me any more questions about the mortgage, stop trying to show me that bike video on YouTube, get your feet off the couch, do the dishes like you're supposed to, get your own frickin' pj's DONE.
It just hit me this last Monday, which is a shame, since Monday had been such a good day. Mr. C and I had had fun but gotten a lot accomplished, Bee had let me sleep in a little in the morning, and S.B. came home from school excited over the bike he was refinishing. But, as dinnertime approached, I suddenly realized how inundated I was by all the males in my life, and I realized that all I wanted was to eat my food in peace, not have to harangue S.B. about his chores, and not have to vitamin and tooth-brush and bathe and dress and read and sing and tuck Mr. C into bed. Because those are the things I do pretty much every night. Every night. And I wanted a break.
So, I ended up shoveling my own dinner down my throat and slipping upstairs to close my bedroom door and read. Everyone was bouncing around the living room, so I wasn't immediately missed. Ahh, the guilty pleasure of time to yourself whilst the wheels seamlessly turn downstairs!
Or not. I got about ten minutes of peace before Mr. C thundered upstairs, threw my door open, and launched himself onto my bed.
"What you doin', Mommy?"
"Reading. Go away."
"Ohhh. Are you going to take a nap?"
"No. I'm reading. Close the door and go see Daddy."
"Ohhh. Are you napping on your pillow?"
"No. Go downstairs."
"Ohhh. Are you taking a nap?"
"YES! I'M NAPPING! NOW CLOSE THE DOOR, GO DOWNSTAIRS, AND GO SEE DADDY!"
"Ohhh. OK," he shrugged, happily.
He may have left, but it was too late: my secret was out. Like locusts, the boys now knew where I was, and they swarmed on me five minutes later. The theme to Jaws thundered through my head as I heard three sets of footsteps approaching.
The door to my room banged open, and all three males peered in.
"Whatcha doing?" Bee asked.
"Trying to read," I grumbled.
Bee can be pretty intuitive, so, by studying my hunched, tense form quivering under the covers, white-knuckled hands clutching my book, eyes squeezed partway shut with the intense concentration it took not to LOSE IT RIGHT THERE, Bee seemed to deduce that I needed a little space. He kicked the younger boys out.
"You can't be up here having free time when there's work downstairs," he joked.
Such was my mood that I just couldn't find that funny. Which told me right then and there that something needed to be done.
"I think I need a stay-cation," I said. "You know, a day to myself, just to hide out and read and eat and watch movies."
Bee was perplexed. "But you get to do all that stuff now."
Which is true. But -- I realized -- it comes in tiny bursts, in between doing the dishes every few hours, stopping to help Bee with business affairs, and helping Mr. C wash his hands (cursed soap!), eat his meals (damn peas!), find his clothing (stupid shoes!), and be entertained (frickin' cars!). Again.
And for one day, one tiny day, I just want to do my own thing.
Here's the problem: as much as I want a break, I don't feel like I deserve a break. When I compare myself to moms who are home alone all day with their children and moms who work all day and then come home to their children, I don't think I have anything to complain about. With Bee's flexible schedule, he is constantly in and out to help with Mr. C, and I usually get an hour of peace when Mr. C is pretending to nap. I do get lots of breaks throughout the day, so shouldn't I be doing something to earn a full day off?
The pathetic thing is, if another mother was in my same situation, I would immediately tell her she deserves a whole day off. So why do I feel guilty if I leave Mr. C with Bee in the middle of the day to go to lunch with a friend? Why do I feel the need to at least get Mr. C bathed, teeth-brushed, and in his pajamas before I rush out to see a movie by myself? Why do I take great pains not to schedule my gynecological appointment unless I can do it while Mr. C naps so Bee can keep doing his own thing?
Why can I tell someone else she deserves a break, but I just can't justify one for myself?
It just hit me this last Monday, which is a shame, since Monday had been such a good day. Mr. C and I had had fun but gotten a lot accomplished, Bee had let me sleep in a little in the morning, and S.B. came home from school excited over the bike he was refinishing. But, as dinnertime approached, I suddenly realized how inundated I was by all the males in my life, and I realized that all I wanted was to eat my food in peace, not have to harangue S.B. about his chores, and not have to vitamin and tooth-brush and bathe and dress and read and sing and tuck Mr. C into bed. Because those are the things I do pretty much every night. Every night. And I wanted a break.
So, I ended up shoveling my own dinner down my throat and slipping upstairs to close my bedroom door and read. Everyone was bouncing around the living room, so I wasn't immediately missed. Ahh, the guilty pleasure of time to yourself whilst the wheels seamlessly turn downstairs!
Or not. I got about ten minutes of peace before Mr. C thundered upstairs, threw my door open, and launched himself onto my bed.
"What you doin', Mommy?"
"Reading. Go away."
"Ohhh. Are you going to take a nap?"
"No. I'm reading. Close the door and go see Daddy."
"Ohhh. Are you napping on your pillow?"
"No. Go downstairs."
"Ohhh. Are you taking a nap?"
"YES! I'M NAPPING! NOW CLOSE THE DOOR, GO DOWNSTAIRS, AND GO SEE DADDY!"
"Ohhh. OK," he shrugged, happily.
He may have left, but it was too late: my secret was out. Like locusts, the boys now knew where I was, and they swarmed on me five minutes later. The theme to Jaws thundered through my head as I heard three sets of footsteps approaching.
The door to my room banged open, and all three males peered in.
"Whatcha doing?" Bee asked.
"Trying to read," I grumbled.
Bee can be pretty intuitive, so, by studying my hunched, tense form quivering under the covers, white-knuckled hands clutching my book, eyes squeezed partway shut with the intense concentration it took not to LOSE IT RIGHT THERE, Bee seemed to deduce that I needed a little space. He kicked the younger boys out.
"You can't be up here having free time when there's work downstairs," he joked.
Such was my mood that I just couldn't find that funny. Which told me right then and there that something needed to be done.
"I think I need a stay-cation," I said. "You know, a day to myself, just to hide out and read and eat and watch movies."
Bee was perplexed. "But you get to do all that stuff now."
Which is true. But -- I realized -- it comes in tiny bursts, in between doing the dishes every few hours, stopping to help Bee with business affairs, and helping Mr. C wash his hands (cursed soap!), eat his meals (damn peas!), find his clothing (stupid shoes!), and be entertained (frickin' cars!). Again.
And for one day, one tiny day, I just want to do my own thing.
Here's the problem: as much as I want a break, I don't feel like I deserve a break. When I compare myself to moms who are home alone all day with their children and moms who work all day and then come home to their children, I don't think I have anything to complain about. With Bee's flexible schedule, he is constantly in and out to help with Mr. C, and I usually get an hour of peace when Mr. C is pretending to nap. I do get lots of breaks throughout the day, so shouldn't I be doing something to earn a full day off?
The pathetic thing is, if another mother was in my same situation, I would immediately tell her she deserves a whole day off. So why do I feel guilty if I leave Mr. C with Bee in the middle of the day to go to lunch with a friend? Why do I feel the need to at least get Mr. C bathed, teeth-brushed, and in his pajamas before I rush out to see a movie by myself? Why do I take great pains not to schedule my gynecological appointment unless I can do it while Mr. C naps so Bee can keep doing his own thing?
Why can I tell someone else she deserves a break, but I just can't justify one for myself?
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