Here's a typical day for me:
Wake up. Check
mirror. Cringe. But realize there’s no time to shower. I’ve got to get the kids to school no later
than 8:25. Since this is NYC, I do not
have the option to get in my car in my pajamas, drop off my kids, and drive
home before anyone notices me. I have to
get dressed and try to achieve some semblance of presentability before leaving
the house. I also have to get my kids
ready, which means endless repetitions of “get dressed, brush your teeth, put
your socks on, where’s your homework, sit down while you eat, you have to go to
the bathroom now?, where’s your other shoe, hit the elevator button, and do you
have your Metrocard?” Once we finally
achieve the impossible and leave the house on time, we have to walk the four
blocks to the city bus stop, hope the bus comes, hope when it does come the
dispatcher doesn’t hold it there while he yacks about the Yankees with the
driver and leaves all us parents and commuters seething, ride the bus across town,
walk the six blocks to school from the bus stop, climb five flights of stairs
to their classrooms, and then do the whole thing in reverse. All before 9am.
Once I’m home, do the breakfast dishes, make the beds, pick
up their toys, check my email, look in the refrigerator for something to eat,
try to get some writing done, procrastinate by cleaning out the linen closet
(really just a few shelves in my bedroom cabinet, but it makes me feel better
to call it a linen closet), realize that the crack in the living room ceiling
is getting ominously bigger, make mental note to do something about
it…eventually, open the refrigerator again as if expecting new food to have
magically appeared since the last time I opened it forty minutes ago, run some
errands, go to the gym, shower (finally), prepare dinner, prepare snacks, pick
up kids, serve snacks, help with homework, greet the husband, serve the dinner,
clean the dishes, tuck in the kids, pay some bills, do some online shopping (my
son is growing at an alarming rate), knit a few rows of the sweater I’ve been
working on for three years, collapse in front of the TV, converse with husband,
(monosyllables, at best), wash up, put on pajamas, get into bed, and try to get
enough sleep so I can do it all again the next day.
So you know what I want for Mother’s Day? A day off. I want to wake up in a nether world where my kids don’t want anything
from me other than to shower me with praise and love. I want to live in an apartment where the beds
are made by invisible imps who don’t come to you with their problems, don’t put
away your favorite jeans somewhere you can’t find them, and never ever ask for
a raise. I want to go to the gym and not
worry about how soon I have to be back, or whether or not it’s fair to my husband
to have to stay home with the kids when he’s been working all week and I’ve
been able to go to the gym whenever I want to (Ha!). I want to shower in the morning, and have
time to blow-dry my hair. I want to make
one thing for dinner and have everyone eat it. Or better yet, have someone else make it, and do the dishes afterward.
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