Bringing back that poem I wrote maybe four years ago, about a day in the life of a mom. Happy Mother’s Day everyone!:
“A Day In the Life of Me, a Mom”
Eyes open to a new day.
Way later than I had hoped to be up.
My joints hurt.
My eyes, wrinkled and puffy
like the raisins on a gingerbread boy.
No time to hit the gym….at least maybe a quick hot shower — NO!
Is that my husband STILL here, in the bathroom
that I had hoped to occupy?
Yes. Him. Hairs and all.
Hot water gone.
Damp towel draped lazily over wet shower curtain (it will get mildew that way, I scream in my
I know he forgot to use the Tilex
that I leave hanging on the towel bar.
The usual back-and-forth
Something about no clean underwear.
I just ran 20 loads this week…how can it be?
Kids are up.
There is no escape now.
Make my way downstairs with a bird’s nest for a hairdo.
I wait to take the first sip
until husband leaves for work.
It tastes better that way.
Younger son has a cold
I listen to him gulp his juice like only
a kid with a cold can do.
Hot breath into glass between sips.
Obligatory “uhh” noise punctuates each swallow.
I escape into the world
of on-line news….it is bleak
Check the decorating blogs and visually
arrange the furniture I cannot yet afford.
A girl can dream….and satiate her desires
at Target. Instant gratification with quick and cheap
trumps saving and waiting any day.
Here comes the older boy.
I think I had the lady at the Hair Cuttery
have too much of her way with the scissors.
He looks like an escapee
Or a matchstick.
Pancakes (that they won’t eat)
Eight glasses of — gulp — o.j. (they will spill at least two of them)
Yogurt drinks (they will fight over who gets the blueberry)
My house is scaring me.
How do we go through so many dishes?
Collect so many dust bunnies?
Never have clean laundry?
Why did we get a dog?
Why does the mailman never look up when I wave, which I only do because we
always seem to be in the kitchen window when he
Why does my husband never have clean underwear?
Make my way to laundry room to remedy the latter
only to find
a Pottery Barn catalog that I must
Trip to bank (kids knock over the rope stands).
Change machine is broken. And sticky. And reminds me to worry about
Target store equals drapes I don’t need, and a Nerf Gun that younger son will need assistance
with each time he wants to shoot a bullet
and he always wants to shoot
100 bullets a day.
Also plastic Popsicle molds
Undershirts for husband
Zone bars for me
because I still might be on a diet.
Kids tear through construction paper and tape
as though they were building the
Great Wall of China
And of course the tape was
MINE. As in, from my little desk.
My little corner of the world where at least some things are sacred
Like having tape in the dispenser when I need it.
The tape is empty now.
All the tips of the crayons are broken.
The silly putty they played with last week
is still stuck on younger son’s chair.
Search in-box for e-mail I have been waiting for
Grad school adviser still has not answered the questions that I need answered
before I decide when to begin this whole
I secretly resented having to go back
until now b/c it may not work out and so I realize
that I may have wanted to do this more than I could admit to
Dinner equals leftovers b/c Giant is too expensive anymore
To buy food in quantities as if I was a
new wife with new recipes
to feed a new husband who doesn’t care about how much
underwear is in his drawer
Kids take over an hour to eat
half their dinner.
Daddy says they can have a bath
not on your life, husband. I cannot drag this
day out any longer or have
water all over the floor.
I quickly hose them down while they
still splash water all over my floor.
Younger son puts his lips to my ear
as I hold him, carrying him damp and wrapped in a towel
and it is not a kiss I get, or a special love secret
But a shout. Loud and just
for the fun of it.
My ear rings.
I yell at him.
And set him down on the floor among half his closet
that has apparently barfed toys
All over the floor.
I am done. I am tired.
I still do not know what I want to be
When I grow up.
At least I have coffee and a best friend
whose husband gives her dumb Wal-Mart roses too.
I think I’ll send this to her.
Then surf the decorating blogs again
for the tenth time today.