Wednesday, March 24, 2010
As I sit here decompressing, and waiting for my oatmeal to magically turn into breakfast, I can't help thinking how revolting mornings are. I cannot ever remember being a morning person. Ever. Not even on Christmas morning. Yeah, that's right--not even on Christmas.
Anyway, this morning was like most. My son Jack was getting ready for senior kindergarten, and my daughter Ella was getting ready for nursery school. Ella's into super girlie things lately, and almost never wants to wear pants anymore. This can be challenging when she only has a few skirts, but manages to dirty about two or three different outfits a day. Just picture a 3 year old wailing in horror when her fairy shirt gets covered in chocolate milk. So, Ella was all dolled up in her skirt, tights and short sleeve shirt, and Jack was about to get dressed.
"I want to wear my Rolling Stones shirt," Jack said.
Okay, no big deal, right? But, it is if you live in my house, because a) where is it, b) is it clean, and c) where the %@$* is it???? Just yesterday my mother told me;
"Clothes are the BAIN of your existence."
She's right. I'm always doing laundry. The kids rip through so many clothes each day, or capriciously decide they just don't like what they're wearing, and they throw them on the floor in their bedroom, and the living room, and maybe the kitchen (if a shirt has just become COATED in applesauce, let's say). There are baskets of clean clothes ALWAYS waiting to be put away, and they don't, because the ONLY ONE who puts them away is ME, and ME is too BURNT OUT to put them away in a timely fashion. Oh, and there are at least two bags on the go, at any given time, which are the SPARE CLOTHES BAGS that I must bring with me EVERYWHERE I go, because one never knows when there's going to be a CLOTHING DISASTER whenever I'm out somewhere. In the meantime, the laundry baskets are happily getting fuller and fuller each day, and they're mocking me: "hey there washer-woman, shouldn't you have started the laundry by now? Chortle, chortle, chortle." And while we're at it, let's take a little trip to Jack's bedroom...
Pure nightmare. Okay, my son does not like toys, or, he likes them, but does not know how to play them. Or maybe he just doesn't like them. Whatever. That's a whole other topic for a whole n'other time. How can I explain this...he uses his clothes for toys. No, I don't like it. He's always setting his room up like a stadium, ready for a massive rock concert. So, socks and underwear become extra drum kits (I'm not kidding), and pants become AMPS. I have to hide his underpants from him because he will constantly swipe them for his "socky band." He also likes to dig his clothes out of his drawers to consider them for different components of his band. Do I like this? Do I? OF COURSE NOT. Have I turned into SCREAMING IDIOT MOM over it? Plenty of times. Have I attempted to PUT MY FOOT DOWN over this issue. Of course.
Okay, so that's a little background on the clothing situation in this house. So, Jack said; "I want to wear my Rolling Stones shirt." I lost it. No, not the shirt. I lost IT; "YOU'RE GIVING ME A HEART ATTACK," I said, and; "THE CLOTHES SITUATION IN THIS HOUSE IS A NIGHTMARE," and, "WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO EVER PUTS THE CLOTHES AWAY???" I could actually feel the heart beginning to pound. Here's where someone would tell me to just get him another shirt. Ah, ha ha, you don't know Jack. Jack has some issues, which are also for another time to discuss, so let's just say that as soon as I tell him; "I can't find the shirt, you'll have to wear something else," this will initiate a fifteen minute sobbing/wailing/real tears/total anxiety fest.
Found the f*cking shirt. Teeth brushed, hair brushed, kids had a smack fest in the bathroom, Jack went to school. Ella informed me as I was about to get her coat; "I don't WANNA wear my coat. I want to wear my jacket." Fine. Fine. The kids have mostly beaten me into a fine, malleable paste by this point, so I thought "christ--instead of arguing about what coat to wear for a two minute drive, she can wear her spring jacket." The lovely young teacher at nursery school told me today; "we're going to go for a walk today." Great. It was cold out this morning. Ella's in a flimsy spring coat, with no mitts. Fight the urge to scream, and drive home defeated.
But then I went for a walk with my oh-so-trendy ipod, and started to feel better. By the time I got home I was thinking how beautiful a sunny morning is. I sat down in my backyard for a moment on the weights bench (don't ask why it's still there, that might bring the chest pains back), to listen to a dove, as it "Ooo--ooo-ed" up in the tree. How peaceful. And then, SPLAT, the dove shat on the recycling box that was about five inches on the ground in front of me. And that about sums it up.