Be Childish

I think kids can add a dimension to life that we don't have, otherwise. A vision and playfulness that we lose because of the seriousness of adulthood. Like Supertramp sang in the Logical Song: "But then they sent me away to teach me how to be sensible, logical, responsible, practical, and they showed me a world where I could be so dependable, clinical, intellectual, cynical... "

So we lose all our magic, our joy. We 'stop acting like a child' (I'm hearing the line from Hook in which a nervous Robin Williams, so in thrall with his own fear of flying, tells his son to do just that and the little boy shrugs, baseball in hand, and replies "But I am a child"). We throw out the baby with the bathwater. Yes, we need to grow up and be responsible and all those other attributes, but we need to keep our sense of wonder, a little bit of our right brain active, to balance all that seriousness. That's what great artists and comedians do. They see things literally, and then show us what they see.

Look for yourself, don't passively wait for another person's vision to entertain you. You can learn to see it too, if you just look. See what Is, unfiltered by the perceptions of the world around you. Is it scary sometimes? Yes. And sometimes we should be scared, because it's the only way we'll make effective changes. Is it hilariously ridiculous? Often. Can you always laugh out loud? Not unless you like getting beat up! But you can use your adult control to keep your inner child safely entertained, which is going to make your outer grown-up a much happier and more balanced person. You may be able to cut back on your Prozac, too.

It makes me sad to see parents, as well as other adults, that are so caught up in themselves and their own priorities that they lose their sense of playfulness, and become impatient with their children. Yes, kids need to learn not to interrupt, but so do parents. They're really losing out. So are their kids. Kids are great for reminding us how ridiculous we and the things we take for granted every day are... whether we're eating 'green balls'(peas) or 'little trees' (my nephew's code for broccoli).

Be a child today. Play catch. Pretend. Be silly. It's fun. Remember fun?

Recipes Through the Years

My grandmother and mother collected recipes. Most cooks do. You can always tell a favorite cookbook, it's not only worn, dog-eared, and stained; it's covered in notes. If a cookbook hasn't been mauled and the pages aren't coming out, it isn't worth keeping. At least in our family. We have loose-leaf binders coming out of our ears covered in menus, modifications, stars, and exclamation marks. Try this --> marks abound, and sometimes huge slash marks with NEVER AGAIN scrawled in bold letters. LOL

Many recipes are cut out of old newspapers, yellowed and faded, some with questions and attributions from "Mrs. C. J. in Sask." and others. 'How to Save Money Making Your Own Maraschino Cherries' from LOWE FARM, Box 165, Man. next to a personal ad saying 'Ready to Settle Down' from Homesick in Sask. calling for girls from 20 years old and up to correspond who live in Saskatchewan, Manitoba, and Ontario. They're pinned in with sewing pins, or stapled, or just left loose between the yellowing pages of a plain black wirebound notebook with my grandmother's precise old-fashioned script next to my mother's sloping and hurried hand. It's a fascinating time capsule of farm life, the bits and pieces of what was important to a woman alone on the prairie.

I remember when I was first married and subjecting my husband to my inexperienced cooking looking through Grandma's books and being so frustrated because I didn't know what so much of it meant, and wishing I could ask. What was a medium oven, anyway? And yet so many things were so carefully written, even recipes for liniments, and so many kinds of pickles you just wouldn't believe it.

I barely knew my grandmother, yet she lives in these handwritten pages. She didn't journal in these books, but between the recipes and the clippings are favorite scriptures carefully written. In this I see a faithful mother and wife, a spiritual woman who nurtured all around her. Of course, my childhood memories of her are surrounded by foods, and gardening, and of course, pickles. :)

Changes

Reminiscing can get to the point of nauseating, so I'll spare everyone the 'walked uphill both ways to school in the snow after eating gravel for breakfast' speech. I do think it's important to notice and question essential changes, though.

Remember 'Schoolhouse Rock' in the early 70s, late 60s? Between commercials for Hotwheels and Barbie's corvette we kids who were glued to Looney Tunes and Scooby Doo from the time the networks came on in the morning with the national anthem learned stuff too (other than the fact that the ghost was always a guy in a glowing suit). We learned about Conjunction Junction, the Magic Number 3, and what a noun was, as well as the use of commas. Those jingles still rattle around in my head, truth be told!

The thing that fired me up about this last night was when I told my son to be sure and wash his hands thoroughly. He righteously told me that he had learned on Nick or one of the 100 other 24/7 kid's channels that you must wash your hands for 20 seconds after using the bathroom, and was very firmly counting it off as he washed.

Considering the terrible health threats we're all facing today, I'm very glad of that, but there is this little tickle in the back of my mind that just won't go away.

I've watched TV with my kids, I'm not one to just let the TV babysit them most of the time, and I've seen some good public service announcements. The one on handwashing, some on drugs, some on molestation, and many of them encouraging children to go outside and play. What I haven't seen is any public service announcements or jingles like what we learned with as children.

It really speaks to where we are in the stream of time that what is considered essential for children to know are things that their parents should be teaching them. Wash up. Your privates are private. Don't get involved in criminal activities.

It seems to me that we are in a very strange place when the TV is teaching parental messages rather than being a tool in the education of our children. I guess not being able to read or write is no big deal, though, as long as they wash their hands. After all, McDonalds has pictures for their cashiers to choose from, rather than having to actually add, subtract, and make change.

Brats

I just read this article in the Health section of the NY times.

Yikes. So here's this guy regurgitating the idea promoted by Carl Rogers that you have to unconditionally love your little poopsies no matter how they behave. I take that to mean a completely hands off approach from the way this columnist writes... Funny, Dr. Spock said the same thing in the 60s, saying that spanking and "negative reinforcement" were 'barbaric' and that it only teaches your children that you "hate them". Ironically, a few years back Doc Spock said 'Oops.' He now says,

"We have reared a generation of brats. Parents aren't firm enough with their children for fear of losing their love or incurring their resentment. This is a cruel deprivation that we professionals have imposed on mothers and fathers. Of course, we did it with the best of intentions. We didn't realize until it was too late how our know-it-all attitude was undermining the self assurance of parents."

Guess the NY Times writer didn't get the memo.

Now those brats are having brats of their own, and there is a whole new generation of empty-headed people with keyboards to tell them what to do. Or more accurately, what not to do—like tell your kids No. No, you can't have everything you see. No, you can't hit the neighbor kid with a stick for no reason. No, you can't make the kitty swim in a bucket... Instead their little terrors scream and cry and their mothers whine too. They whine "Henry please, Henry don't, Henry not now..." Or they ignore their children's screaming and whining, to the detriment of every eardrum in 3 counties.

What they don't do is be consistent, be firm, and set clear boundaries, explaining why the behavior is wrong after getting the child's attention and stopping the behavior.

What people don't seem to understand is that along with the No's come a lot of Yes's. When you teach your kids to act in a sociably acceptable manner, other people don't cringe when your kids show up, they have friends, they are well-liked. Because they have self-control they are less likely to engage in self-destructive behaviors, they're responsible, they're better able to reach goals in life—a whole 'mother-load' of benefits that start with their parents' loving discipline. Saying No.

For a long time I was totally mystified why anyone would fall for these sociologist's propaganda, but now I can't help but think that people listened to these 'experts' because it was what they wanted to hear. They wanted to hear that not only were their children basically little angels in need of wings (exactly what they weren't hearing from anyone around them) but it also appealed to the selfish side of their own natures. They were tired of parenting responsibly, which requires a lot of hard work and consistency. They could opt out as parents and everything would be fine. The experts said so.

The thing is that it goes against everything that makes sense.

Even as adults our friends let us know when we're being jerks, a kind of discipline. Police officers and laws are there to keep us socially acceptable also, and to protect us from people who aren't obedient to the law.

Obedience is an integral part of what makes society work. Seems to me to deny the fact that children must obey and act in a socially acceptable manner is only destroying any chance that they will ever succeed as adults.

Maybe we should spend more time listening to common sense and Grandma than we do listening to experts... Even if they're writing for the NY Times.

You know what kind of blows my mind? That as I'm writing this, automatically the links come up for 'spanking'... and nowhere in this post have I mentioned that word... Interesting.

Cough... second half of tip for the day...

If you wipe down the counter after cutting up jalapenos, do make sure the rag goes into the wash... and doesn't get used by your son as a wash rag in the shower... in which he washes all over...

I'm not my son's favorite person right now....

I didn't do it on purpose! Geez...

Today's warning...

Never dice jalapenos with a hangnail.

If you didn't know you had a hangnail, you will.

And don't rub your eyes.

Even if you think you washed your hands, showered, washed your hands again, and went about your business for an hour. It's like the ugly neighbor dog. It just doesn't go away, no matter what you do. You just have to work around it.

Kids Ask Dumb Questions

Image by John_X via Flickr

My younger son is the 'why?' kid. He always has to know why, when, where, how, who... you get the picture. The fact that he professes to not be able to share any of this knowledge on paper mystifies me. But that's not really the thing right now. We don't start school until next week.

I have a tough time communicating with this one, because he is very precise (Concrete Sequential, Cynthia Tobias would say) and I am oh so random. When I send him to fetch something, I have to be able to tell him exactly where it is and what it is, or he comes back empty-handed. And yelling 'just LOOK for it' causes such a look of complete horror that I instantly feel like I've just kicked a puppy. Sigh. It's been good for me, as I have had to really work on paying attention to how I say things and seeing things from his point of view.

Of course, today was a kicker. I was building a wall on a loafing shed for my horses (a loafing shed is a 2 or 3 sided shelter that the horses freely wander in and out of in a paddock or pasture) when my son very casually asked me: "Are those yellow jackets, or hornets." I answered, "I dunno, where?" while looking around a little, but mostly focused on my job. He said, "Over your head."

I look up to see about 6 pissed off paper hornets coming off the nest they're building in the rafters of 'my' shed!!

Of course I did what any sensible woman would do... Haul butt out of there!

I have to say my kid is pretty smart, though, or at least has a great sense of self preservation. When he saw me running, he didn't ask any questions (for once) he took off too!

I have to say I'm proud to be as fast as my 10-year-old son, even in my workboots and wearing a toolbelt with a hammer wailing away on the back of my thighs with every step. There's nothing like the proper motivation. And I don't care what the kid says, I did NOT shoulder him into the barn wall!

So you see, it's not that kids ask questions, it's the type of questions they ask. Of course, "Did you know there's a paper wasp nest over your head?" would have gotten the same reaction, so what does it really matter anyway?


Of course, my question for the day, and my whole family is professing innocence on this one: Why are there firecrackers in my toolbelt pockets?

In tears...

I lost my mom last year to a brain tumor. August 19 would have been her 80th birthday, so a lot of memories have come flooding back lately.

Mom was an orthopedic nightmare. It started with a hip revision that she insisted on despite the doctor's misgivings. It was a tough surgery, a tough recovery, and led to her femur spontaneously fracturing some months later. That surgery led to MRSA, and continuing complications for the next 3 years or so. We dealt with good doctors, bad doctors, wonderful nurses, incredibly caring office staff, great nursing homes, hellholes, and lunkheads. As an only child, I was Mom's primary caregiver, chauffeur, and interference-runner. My medical transcription training definitely proved to be an advantage in understanding what was happening and why, and really helped me keep track of her records and even catch some mistakes here and there.

My advice is this: Stay polite. Ask questions in a non-confrontational way. Be sure you totally understand the situation before making decisions... and ask the doctor what he would do if this was his mother.

That all said, for the past few months I've been watching the unfolding drama of another only daughter and her mother in a very similar situation, and it's really underscored for me how essential it is to be pro-active in getting care for our parents, and how terribly things go wrong if we aren't paying attention or are more concerned with our own desires and social life than our parent's needs, and how terribly things can go wrong if we don't stay at our parent's sides through all the hospital stays and tests and doctor's visits.

Honestly sometimes you have to get past your parent's desire to tell you what they think you want to hear. It's a very soul-searching position to be in.

I fear it will cost this old friend her life, if not just her leg, and it just breaks my heart. She was and is a good mom. She doesn't deserve such a selfish daughter. It makes me really feel for what doctors go through with delusional people who blame them for not being able to fix the results of their own irresponsibility.

The Spartans had a clue...

I've been listening to recordings of a series of lectures on the History of Western Civilization. It's really interesting, even if the lecturer does sound just like Dr. Flox on Enterprise!

Anyway... one of the lectures in the series was about the Spartans. Their were a very militaristic nation. All the adult males basically lived in barracks, and the boys from 7 years old went away to 'military school'. Leaving the women to a peaceful night's sleep and a tidy home.

I'm thinking... cool.

And you're thinking, so?

Ok, I'll be honest. Here's what's really happening. My husband is a morning person. I am So Not. Garfield is my kindred spirit. I'm not passably human until my 3rd cup of Joe. I usually try hard to have no contact with others for at least an hour. It's for their own safety. So this morning I wanted to sleep in a little (I lost track of time and when I looked at the TV SNL was on, so yeah, I was up too late. Oh, BTW, SNL was a totally lame rerun from a YEAR ago, and since when did they have so many real commercials??), and on my way back from the morning bathroom visit looked over at little Mr. Brighteyes and said "Leave me alone. I want to Sleep." He is now deeply offended. He hasn't spoken to me all day. Sigh.

Morning people. They suck. I know I'll be the one to apologize. I always am. Morning people never apologize. They have this little self-righteous THING that daylight means activity, it's the 'natural order of things' or some-such crap.

They should live in Barracks with other morning people. Far FAR AWAY!

Missing collectables

Image via Wikipedia

My husband is one of those guys that every time a news story comes up about some incredibly valuable rookie card says "I had that." It's true. He did. And his mom threw them allllll away. Football cards, comic books, toys...

And I used to feel bad for him. Especially since I knew his mom was a neat-freak that had no problem with going through other people's stuff to 'tidy up'. You tended to only discover this 'tidying up' when you saw someone else wearing your jewelry. But I just won't go there today.

Now I'm a mom too. I have boys. And I hate to say it, but I'm starting to feel a lot more empathetic towards the dragon MIL. Because I really want to toss all these rotten 'collectables' my children are filling my house with. I don't want to be that little old lady with all the cats and pathways through the house between all the magazines, books, amazing t-shirts, and for God's sake ENERGY DRINK CANS?? What the??

I try hard to remember the stand I took long ago about privacy and personal possessions--but my mommy genes are starting to rear their ugly heads and whisper things like 'dust' 'vacuum' 'TIDY'... I'm sorry, Rulah...

I got mugged

Image by normanack via Flickr

Many of us have joked about the difference between a small town mugging and a big-city mugging. In the big city people take your stuff. In a small town, they give you stuff. Not stuff you want, usually, but stuff. It just appears in your car without notice.

It's especially critical to lock your car in small towns in summer so that you don't find strange zucchini. It's everywhere! I swear there are rabid gardeners out there stalking parking lots for their next victim... After all, we can't eat all this stuff ourselves! It's the fault of the seed companies who enable us! They have to be putting at least 20 zucchini seeds in each packet and god knows it seems harmless and innocent at the time. Then July comes and you can't just let all that go to waste--oh lord what were we THINKING??

Sigh.

Sure enough, this weekend I didn't warn my husband to lock the car, and there it was, large as life and just as proud when he got home; a zucchini the size of a baseball bat in my backseat. Sigh... allrecipes.com here I come.

I know who you are... and be warned, I have summer squash and I'm not afraid to use it!

The Eternal Garden

Yesterday I picked beans, cleaned beans, and canned beans. All on a day featuring 100 degree temperatures. The beans were ready, even if I wasn't.

I was alone in my garden, but I didn't feel alone. It was like I could feel my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, and all the others who came before me right there with me. I realized that ever since woman's creation we've done this thing: We've tilled, seeded, and harvested in order to feed our families. That in itself is such a humbling thing. The schedule of the earth and the seasons becomes your schedule. There is something about that natural cycle that is just so real, you know? We can't put it off, we can't do it when it's convenient, the time for harvest is now, and we must answer that call or the crop goes to waste. Not only must we pick on time, but we must process that crop or, once again, it goes to waste. So you stand there with sweat rolling down your neck, back, legs, until you finish the job.

We always say firewood warms you twice, once when you're cutting, and again when you burn. The garden is the same... only it doesn't just warm your body, it warms your soul. It feeds a deeper need we have, a connection with what's real on this earth, and what's really important. In that moment when you're sweating and itching and looking forward to that cold beer, ice tea, water from the hose even, you know you're doing what millions of women all through time and from all over the world have done, were designed to do. And somehow you're content. And you're never alone.

The cruelty of silence

One of my sons just rescued our ancient collie from the bottom of the basement stairs. He had fallen, and couldn't get up. Sadly, he doesn't have a lifeline available to him. See, he's been debarked.

We didn't do it, I bought him as an adult from a breeder in a suburb who had a lot of neighbors, and a strong desire to keep peace. You couldn't meet nicer people, they loved their dogs, they bred and showed collies for over 40 years until finally succumbing to age and ill health, but in order to live there in the 'burbs, they silenced their dogs.

Over the years I became used to the hoarse little noise Victor made when he was barking his alarms against marauding bicyclists and joggers as they passed, although it always made me sad. He would work so hard to get our attention, sashaying right up into our faces and huffing at us, telling us all we had failed to do to reach his standards, or telling us about his day... but the saddest thing about the loss of his voice was his inability to whine, or groan, or make all those little noises that signify so many things.

Tonight was the worst, though. Victor is old. His body is giving up, though his spirit is still strong. The only reason we found him tonight was that he was panting so hard my son could hear him across the yard and came in to tell me something was wrong. He couldn't whine. He couldn't bark. All he could do was fricking breathe loud.

Our plan was to put him to sleep before another winter could make his bones ache unbearably... But I guess it's time to say a final good night to our good boy. What a terrible decision to have to make. It just breaks my heart to finally silence such an indomitable spirit--One who insisted on being heard, although you had to listen just a little harder to hear what he had to say.

Brain Congestion!

Image via Wikipedia

In researching our family genealogy I happened on a death index from 1860, and possibly one key to my in-law's fears.

In 1860 only 3 people died in King County, one of them some sort of great aunt of ours, apparently. She died from "Congestion of the Brain." This explains so many things to me about some of my in-laws. "Auntie died of brain congestion--we have to be soooo careful not to fall into that trap! Burn the library card! See what can happen if your brain gets too full? Look at Auntie Emily!"

When my husband and I were dating, my FIL and MIL were completely floored by my attraction to books and writing. It was unnatural! A waste of life! Of course, we're talking about people that believed the stuff in the National Enquirer. "They wouldn't let them print lies!" Dramas for TV were taken as gospel, with no allowance for artistic license. Book larnin' was only good for a few things. You're much better off learning from experience, said FIL. I figured I wasn't about to waste the interesting part of my life learning the hard way things that people already knew (other than recreationally, of course, especially involving beer) so I took that with a bucket of salt. Books were a terrible waste of time. Deplorable. Of course, my MIL was a fantastic housekeeper, while I work to stay ahead of the hairballs rolling under the couch... so they may have a point, there. Of course, MIL could have benefited from some good cookbooks... much less allrecipes.com.

Of course, now that I read about Aunt Emily, it all comes together. I understand the fear of overstuffing their brains, now... It's a deepseated genetic fear.

Being the over-achieving knowledge-whore that I am, though, I of course had to look up exactly what brain congestion was. Sure enough, in the 1850s a scholarly paper was written by James M. Newman (no sense of humor-couldn't be related to Alfred E. Neuman) about Congestion of the Brain in cholera cases. It's on the National Library of Medicine site, if you're as bad as I am. The doctor's chosen treatment is enough to leave you with nightmares, if you survived. He would shave your head, stick it in ice, and then attach leeches to your temples. I don't know what that had to do with vomiting and diarrhea, but it was his theory. Some patients survived, so he figured he had the cure. No wonder the in-laws are still afraid of brain congestion...

I love laughing gas..

Went to the dentist today. My pregnancies went straight to my teeth, as well as my butt. They're crumbling away. Wish my butt was, but that's a whole 'nother subject. When I was a teenager I was MUCH too fat--a whole 130 pounds! So I never drank milk because it was fattening. Now I pay! Heed my warning! You are not fat, girls, but you will be--so live it up!

Apparently part of my problem is that I'm a grinder. I have literally broken my teeth right out of my head. The front 4 are more than half fake. I live in a small mountain town, but I don't' want to LOOK like I'm from a small mountain town; as in "Nice tooth!" So I'm chatting with the dentist, making more or less sense... Mfff mfff mffmff and for some reason he's laughing... maybe that's why it's laughing gas, because it's so frigging funny to the dentist what kind of stuff you do and say... and he finds that I have a 16 year old on his way to his driver's license. Ya. I have reasons to grind...


I have to say I think of some of my best stuff under laughing gas. Unfortunately after I'm out from under the influence it's not nearly as profound. None of it spins, either. Wish I could get a take out bottle...

Funny thing is that my true appreciation of laughing gas started when the 16-year-old was a toddler. I hadn't had a solid night's sleep in months, nor an uninterrupted bath, nor a single moment of quiet time. He was my first, and obviously couldn't live without my attention 24/7. Wouldn't ride in a carseat, wouldn't take naps, so I never went anywhere, either. Finally I had a roaring toothache and went to the dentist, who told me I needed fillings. Many fillings. The laughing gas went on my face and I relaxed. Really relaxed for the first time in months. I hadn't realized I was so tense and alert until then, and realized that all those women and mom magazines telling me I needed some 'me' time were right. So here's the next piece of advice, girls: Your baby is all-important, no one will love him like you, but please get some time off for good behavior. You really deserve some quiet time, because what you do is amazing.

Remakes

Apocalyptica via last.fm

My son just introduced me to Apocalyptica. I like it... But he just had to play me this one song featuring a German singer. The song was very profound and dark, and the singer's voice was very growly and serious. I liked it, but it just had this ring of familiarity I couldn't place... You probably already know where I'm going with this, don't you?

It was 'We Can Be Heroes' done originally by David Bowie. Now it's called 'Helden', apparently German for Heroes. It's good, give it a listen. The thing that was pretty funny was how messed up my teenage son got over the fact that I knew the song. It gave me quite the giggles, but then it started bringing back memories for me. Memories of my best friend's mom singing along with the brand new (we thought) pop hit 'Sea of Love' in the early eighties. When she said it was a remake of a song that came out when she was a teenager we were so... disappointed?? Disturbed by the fact that we were reminded that parents had lives too? That who they are now is not who they once were, but what we will someday be? Sure enough, heeere we are! A little gray, a little soft around the edges, and humming along with 'new' songs on the radio.

Speaking of which, I don't know who the band is, but while I was in a store the other day I heard a song that had one of Heart's guitar lines in it. Not bad, figured it was a remake... but NO! It was a totally different song, but with the whole guitar riff totally ripped off! I have to say I am not thrilled with remakes, show some originality, boys, but if you can do it better more power to you--but if you're going to rip off another band's music, at least throw them some credit! Big thumbs down!

The garbage mystery

What is it about garbage? Why do we assign the males in the household the job of taking it out when they obviously can't see it? My youngest will walk in and immediately shout "Something smells!"

But when I ask him to take the garbage out he looks at me in absolute disbelief, as if I've just asked him to walk across burning coals, lie on a bed of nails, sacrifice to pagan gods!

I thought it was just me, and my house, but when I talked to other mothers and wives they said the same thing. Until the garbage actually smells, the men don't notice it, and even then it's a 50/50 chance, and involves guilt inducing looks at the females as if we somehow made it smell on purpose!

I have tested my theory that males don't see garbage by throwing it on the kitchen floor, and watched the males step over it on the way to the refrigerator or out the door. I do have to admit that if the dog gets into the garbage they notice, but only as long as the dog is actively gnawing and tearing the trash. Then they accusingly growl (mostly louder than the dog) "Hey, the dumb dog is in the garbage!" Then they'll huffily pick up most of it and either put it right back in dog's reach, or even more huffily take it out. They get disappointed by the lack of a ticker tape parade, but there's been budget cuts and environmental concerns and these things can't be helped.

I'm wondering now if the dog is actually helping me out here by drawing their attention to the garbage. Hmmm.

There's a very great irony at work here, I just don't understand quite what it is.

Fighting Words...

The other day my teenaged son used fighting words: "I'm not a stay-at-home mom with nothing to do."

Ouch.

I've always thought I've done a fairly decent job raising my kids to respect a woman's role in the household, and how much work I do. They have paid lip-service to that "fact" repeatedly, mostly as a great way to suck up as they bring me yet another dish that's spent who knows how long under the couch usually just after I've finished washing the dishes. I'm not 'Born Organized' (or BO--wow, talk about ironic. Is that because it stinks to live with a person that's got it all together?) so usually I'd get irritated but just shrug and set it next to the sink. After all, there will always be more dishes to wash, so what's the big deal, right?

They get it from my husband, who is a great guy. He tells me not to worry about it. If it were up to him the floor would be carpeted in peanut hulls and Doritos bags. Very likable though. Until I finally reached the point where I've had it and ask him to help. Then he jumps up, yells at the kids, and tears around for a couple hours accomplishing pretty much nothing but making me a nervous wreck saying 'No, don't do that, don't mess with that, leave that alone...'

I'm pretty sure I'm the victim of a not-so-secret plan.

Lately I've been getting a little crankier about things left undone, though. Jobs half-finished, or maybe finished, but none of the tools put away. Now, I've always pointed at myself as well during my lectures on this subject because I do tend to leave things lay, but it's reached a crisis point. The clock is 3 minutes to midnight, and she's about to blow...

Part of it, I know, is the stress level of having been laid off and even though I know I was carrying the bulk of the (undone) chores, now that I'm among the unemployed, I am suddenly everyone's charwoman. No one even bothers to put in the appearance of putting their clothes in the laundry, and I'm like a pile of greasy rags in the sun... starting to smolder.

Is this why some women get 'that face' as they get older? That permanently pissed off look that makes it clear they're one frayed apron string from going completely postal?

There's also the financial aspect. I'd grown used to the money that made life a little more comfortable, and I don't feel entitled to a new skirt, even if I really do need it, when the money is so tightly stretched, and I got to thinking about that in particular as central to how we view ourselves as wives and mothers. While we may say that we're just as entitled to new things as anyone else in the household, the reality is that we always carefully measure our needs against those of our families, and when we come out on the short end, it's self-imposed.

The really sad thing is that it's not just my family, it's our whole society. "Just a Mom" or "Just a Housewife" is the way we describe ourselves, but we are the lynch pin that society turns on. We're the ones that you call in the middle of the night when you need a sitter because one of your kids needs to go to the ER, because we don't have to go to work in the morning. We're the ones your grandmother calls for a ride to the doctor because you have a "real job" and she doesn't want to bother you. We're the ones that are there for you when you need us, volunteer at the schools, and do volunteer work of all those menial sorts that hold society together, because God knows there's not enough money to pay for the stuff that needs to be done to give the kids an education or to serve social needs. We probably don't have anything better to do anyway...

So I decided to start this blog, since "I don't have anything better to do" and since I know there are a lot of other moms out there just like me. We love our families, we'll do anything for our friends, but sometimes we do get a little frustrated at the way things are, and just need to vent a little before getting back on the job, so it doesn't spill over on the ones we love. Too much, anyway. ;^)

Of course, that's just mom venting again...