I think it is funny because, over the past four years, people have asked me what it is I do all day. Um, take care of my child? Now, these same people are asking me what I am going to do now that Bird is in school all day. It is as if I was so busy before, by their standards, of course. I am puzzled. Previously, you believed I was doing nothing. Now, you are all concerned about what I’ll do with all my spare time. Huh.
I am kidding, if that last paragraph even makes sense to you. I barely understand what I just wrote there myself. It is a darn good thing I am not a perfectionist. Sometimes I go back and read posts and often find errors or wonder what the heck it was I was even talking about. I guess that is how it goes when you are your own editor. That is also how it goes when you cannot seem to focus on one thing for more than about four minutes at a time. I now believe multi-tasking is what is responsible for the demise of all things good and sane; there is such a thing as too much.
Anyway, the burning question for this happy day is: What is Jessie Domestic going to do? Well, for starters, she is going to stop referring to herself in third person. Okay, I am glad that’s over. It got weird there for a second.
The way I see it, I have several options. The most obvious answer would probably be to get a job. And, by job, I mean one that provides an actual paycheck you can take to the bank and receive dollars for. Nah. I tried that. It did not work. Besides, my former employer hires me to work from home a couple times a year. I am good with that. Before you get all judgmental on me, because I know you will, I have discussed this with my spouse. He likes our situation.
You see, the thing is, I don’t want my kid to have to go to latchkey or something after school. I want to drop her off in the morning and pick her up in the afternoon. I want to make her a snack and learn all about her day. I want to help her with her homework, take her to her extracurricular activities and play dates, volunteer in her classroom and, perhaps, join the PTO. Maybe this makes me crazy. It might even make me old-fashioned but, both Bread and I feel, this is really, really important. And, honestly, I like to cook and clean and organize. I am good at these things. It is all 1950’s up in here and I love it. Honestly, if I had loved my career, which we all know I did not, I might be making a different choice right now. I need to be clear: I AM NOT AGAINST THE WORKING MOTHER. Thank you. Now I am going to make a damn meatloaf and fetch my man’s slippers.
So, it seems quite clear what I will be doing. Basically, I am doing most of the same things I was doing before except I am alone. Alone! Alone! I am sad. I miss her. Kindergarten is hard for mom too. They don’t tell you that. Or, maybe, they do. I probably wasn’t listening.
But, obviously, I have more spare time than before. What will I do? I have decided to become “handy.” By this, I mean, I will fix stuff. Bread works a lot of hours. He is tired. I can finish up some of his projects! Maybe I will start some of my own! When I finish my coffee in the morning, I feel like I can take on the world. I mean, I really feel like I can take on the world! I am not kidding. I fall for this every day. I finish that last gulp of caffeinated goodness and, suddenly, my muscles are twitching and my brain is humming and I’m all, “Let’s get some shit done!” And then I realize I have a four-year-old and it’s probably not the best time to get out the blow torch or power tools especially considering I don’t actually know how to operate either a blow torch or an actual power tool. Man, an impending trip to the emergency room is such a buzz kill.
I will drink pots and pots of coffee every day. By the time I pick up Bird I will have blown out the entire side of our house in order to start the addition. I am going to rent a Bobcat so as I can finally level out our front yard. I want to power wash my patio, maybe my front porch and possibly our pets, as well.
As you can see, I am well-intended. I have big plans for this school year. I swear it, I do.
What have I actually accomplished over the past three weeks? I cleaned! I recovered from a hectic summer! I have been cooking. I blow dried my hair straight! I painted my nails. I spent a significant amount of time shopping for my fall wardrobe AND cleaned out my closet. My dogs have received ample love. Basically, I am enjoying a wee bit of freedom. I earned it. Being a mom is hard.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
The Big K
Nearly two
weeks ago, all of our lives changed drastically. I am a simple-ish, stay-at-home mom, with big
literary dreams, and I sent my only child off to Kindergarten. For various assorted reasons, but mostly due
to my extreme dislike of change, I knew this would be somewhat difficult. I prepared by spending the entirety of the
summer with Bird. We went to the zoo a
million times, attended as well as hosted play dates, tried a museum, took on
walks, spent tons of hours swimming, hit the park a few times, visited our
library to fuel her addiction to books and knowledge, saw a movie or two, had a
sleepover, spent a day at the beach, took a mini-vacation, played with our pets
and prepared for the arrival of the school year. I ceased doing any sorts of projects or major
cleaning because I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my girl.
I thought I was ready for her to go because by the end of summer, I was 100 percent out of things to do. I swear to you, we spent the last week staring at the walls and loathing each other’s company. I could feel it; she was sick of her mom. I have known since about the middle of her preschool year, she was ready for Kindergarten. Her end-of-the-summer angst only confirmed my suspicions.
I am not an emotional person. I mean, I am but I try really, really hard to bottle that shit. I am not comfortable crying in front of others. My eyes immediately swell and I get an ugly red ring around my lips. I am vain and a very, very ugly crier. I must hide this! Not for the consumption of others! There are many things in this world that make me cry: weddings, funerals, hearing our National Anthem, animal abuse and pretty much every kind deed featured on The Ellen Show. I have become pretty good about swallowing those lumps of emotion down. Naysayers, you’ve been told, this bitch really does have a heart.
So, crying…I was prepared on Bird’s first day of school to shed a couple tears. What I was not ready for was the sobbing. Bread took the day off work. We had big plans-get the child ready for school, take lots of photos, drop her off, take more photos at school and have a day-time date.
Well, the events didn’t really go down like that. We stuck to getting her ready and taking lots of photos. I got up early to apply makeup (least I remind you again of my vanity and the fact there were going to be pictures). Our whole morning went really smoothly (I was very worried about her getting her breakfast down in time as she is most definitely the slowest eater ever). Thanks to her extreme excitement, breakfast was quick and painless. This is great for me because I am mom and I know (and enforce) that first meal being the most important one of the day!
Anyway, everything was great, we got ready, took a poop-load of photos (Bread was the family photographer since I was doing very important things like applying makeup and styling our child’s freshly shorn bob). The minute we got into our car, the tears started (starting again now just writing this-I am officially an emotional basket case). I was definitely leaking like a faucet. Leak, wipe, leak, wipe, leak, wipe, blow nose, repeat process. Bread is giving me looks. He knows I do not like to emote, especially in public.
We arrive at school, park the car and head towards the already crowded elementary. Keep in mind, with the exception of discerning where she would sleep during rest time (her teacher had to search out a cot during the open house), my child has shown no sign of nerves regarding school. That is, until the very moment she sees the throngs of people gathered in front of the school. I am still leaking, all the while, repeating to myself, “I can do this. Be strong. Don’t let her see you cry.” She asks me to hold her hand and I all out lose it. I am officially sobbing. This is embarrassing. This is ridiculous. In that instant where she requested my hand, a million thoughts flooded my brain. I thought: I didn’t get enough time with her. She doesn’t need me anymore. She’s so big. She’s so little, too small to be left alone all day with strangers. We did not do enough. I did not do enough with her. I am embarrassing her already. She is practically in high school. I need more time!
I couldn’t look at the other moms. I was a circus act! What a freak show! Yes, some other moms were crying too! God bless Jesus! But, seriously, I was choking. My child was nervous but excited. I could sense that. I could not ask her because I no longer had a voice. Bread is taking picture after picture. I am staring at him, thinking about placing the camera in a place decidedly lacking of sunlight if he does not get the darn thing out of my bloated, leaking, and swelling face. Do you know he had the audacity to take video footage of this?
The bell rings and, for the first week, parents are allowed to walk the kids to their classroom. We walk down the hall, reach her classroom and, because I can no longer speak, I bend, kiss her, watch her head into her classroom.
Bread keeps putting his arm around me during this whole ordeal. Each time he touches me, because of the instant comfort, I cry harder. I am so embarrassed and humiliated. I look like that crazy mom who cannot let go of her child! That is not me! That has never been me! I have been training her since day one to be independent! I so wish this was not happening. Bread tells me later, another dad got a good look at me, and lost it his own self. You are welcome for that buddy. For the entirety of our children’s school careers together, I will officially be that mom who made you cry. We may never speak but you will remember me always; I am a legend.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day crying on an off and repairing my botched makeup job. We did not have a day date. I cried all day because I was such a hot mess I couldn’t even tell her I loved her and to have a great day. Bread spent his day reassuring me she knew both of those things. I am a mess. Every day when I drop her off I get a lump in my throat. I have a strong feeling that lump is going to stay around for a bit, probably years; there will be many, many bittersweet moments.
I thought I was ready for her to go because by the end of summer, I was 100 percent out of things to do. I swear to you, we spent the last week staring at the walls and loathing each other’s company. I could feel it; she was sick of her mom. I have known since about the middle of her preschool year, she was ready for Kindergarten. Her end-of-the-summer angst only confirmed my suspicions.
I am not an emotional person. I mean, I am but I try really, really hard to bottle that shit. I am not comfortable crying in front of others. My eyes immediately swell and I get an ugly red ring around my lips. I am vain and a very, very ugly crier. I must hide this! Not for the consumption of others! There are many things in this world that make me cry: weddings, funerals, hearing our National Anthem, animal abuse and pretty much every kind deed featured on The Ellen Show. I have become pretty good about swallowing those lumps of emotion down. Naysayers, you’ve been told, this bitch really does have a heart.
So, crying…I was prepared on Bird’s first day of school to shed a couple tears. What I was not ready for was the sobbing. Bread took the day off work. We had big plans-get the child ready for school, take lots of photos, drop her off, take more photos at school and have a day-time date.
Well, the events didn’t really go down like that. We stuck to getting her ready and taking lots of photos. I got up early to apply makeup (least I remind you again of my vanity and the fact there were going to be pictures). Our whole morning went really smoothly (I was very worried about her getting her breakfast down in time as she is most definitely the slowest eater ever). Thanks to her extreme excitement, breakfast was quick and painless. This is great for me because I am mom and I know (and enforce) that first meal being the most important one of the day!
Anyway, everything was great, we got ready, took a poop-load of photos (Bread was the family photographer since I was doing very important things like applying makeup and styling our child’s freshly shorn bob). The minute we got into our car, the tears started (starting again now just writing this-I am officially an emotional basket case). I was definitely leaking like a faucet. Leak, wipe, leak, wipe, leak, wipe, blow nose, repeat process. Bread is giving me looks. He knows I do not like to emote, especially in public.
We arrive at school, park the car and head towards the already crowded elementary. Keep in mind, with the exception of discerning where she would sleep during rest time (her teacher had to search out a cot during the open house), my child has shown no sign of nerves regarding school. That is, until the very moment she sees the throngs of people gathered in front of the school. I am still leaking, all the while, repeating to myself, “I can do this. Be strong. Don’t let her see you cry.” She asks me to hold her hand and I all out lose it. I am officially sobbing. This is embarrassing. This is ridiculous. In that instant where she requested my hand, a million thoughts flooded my brain. I thought: I didn’t get enough time with her. She doesn’t need me anymore. She’s so big. She’s so little, too small to be left alone all day with strangers. We did not do enough. I did not do enough with her. I am embarrassing her already. She is practically in high school. I need more time!
I couldn’t look at the other moms. I was a circus act! What a freak show! Yes, some other moms were crying too! God bless Jesus! But, seriously, I was choking. My child was nervous but excited. I could sense that. I could not ask her because I no longer had a voice. Bread is taking picture after picture. I am staring at him, thinking about placing the camera in a place decidedly lacking of sunlight if he does not get the darn thing out of my bloated, leaking, and swelling face. Do you know he had the audacity to take video footage of this?
The bell rings and, for the first week, parents are allowed to walk the kids to their classroom. We walk down the hall, reach her classroom and, because I can no longer speak, I bend, kiss her, watch her head into her classroom.
Bread keeps putting his arm around me during this whole ordeal. Each time he touches me, because of the instant comfort, I cry harder. I am so embarrassed and humiliated. I look like that crazy mom who cannot let go of her child! That is not me! That has never been me! I have been training her since day one to be independent! I so wish this was not happening. Bread tells me later, another dad got a good look at me, and lost it his own self. You are welcome for that buddy. For the entirety of our children’s school careers together, I will officially be that mom who made you cry. We may never speak but you will remember me always; I am a legend.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day crying on an off and repairing my botched makeup job. We did not have a day date. I cried all day because I was such a hot mess I couldn’t even tell her I loved her and to have a great day. Bread spent his day reassuring me she knew both of those things. I am a mess. Every day when I drop her off I get a lump in my throat. I have a strong feeling that lump is going to stay around for a bit, probably years; there will be many, many bittersweet moments.
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