Of what, you may ask? Well, I’m sick and tired of not having a moment to myself. Everyday I rise at 4 a.m., get myself ready for work, make sure the kids stuff seems to be together and prepared, then head out for my day. I battle tech woes until it’s time to go retrieve the little darlings from school–then the real work begins! I have them do their homework and check it. Then I have them redo their homework and check it again. A good night sees this happening one more time. Children are chauffered to and from their respective classes. In between all this, they must be reminded of their manners, not to fight or be rude to each other, not to be argumentative to me or my partner and not to be rude to us either. Then there’s housework. The bed is rarely made when I come home, whatever dishes that have magically dirtied themselves while I was at work, have not been done, and then there’s the moutains of laundry that must be washed, dried and folded throughout the week–every week–for the rest of my life. Then there’s dinner to make. It has to be nutritious, economical, quick to prepare, and bowel regulating for those in the family who need that kind of thing. After dinner there’s dishes to be done (by the kids, but this follows the same redo pattern that is so much a part of the homework routine), and trash to be put out. Then we can have fun time! Woo Hoo!
I long for the joy of a private afternoon filled with guilty pleasures! Of being able to watch Jerry Springer without keeping my finger poised over the #2 on the remote so I can quickly switch to PBS in case someone comes in and thinks I actually watch trash like Jerry Springer and not something intellectually fulfilling like PBS.
I want to sit around in my grubby t-shirt and Wonder Woman pajama pants and not care that I haven’t washed my hair since yesterday and have no intention of doing so until tomorrow! I want to go braless and know that no one’s around to see that my tits rest on my thighs when I sit down. I want to scratch in places that itch and pick wedgies with abandon! I want to feast on cold pizza and diet coke! I want to drink OJ right from the container! And when I belch and/or fart, I want to contemplate what I injested that might have caused such a spectacle of smell rather than be all embarassed and apologetically excuse myself for this social infraction.
poor laura!! I feel your pain, honey. For me there is only one answer…the SPAAAAAAA!!! An hour and a half a month of me time. A facial and my feet and hands massaged. Afterward, I’m very glowy and happy, and FBMC (first born male child) could crash the car and I could care less.
It semi- makes up for announcing “I am going to take a bath. I will be in there a while. If anyone needs anything…TELL ME NOW!”, hearing silence, and then, the second the door is locked and I am chin deep in hot bubbly water: tap,tap,tap…“mom?” …tap,tap,tap…“mom?”
Thanks, Maureen! I was at my local salon today, picking up a gift certificate for a friend of mine who desperately needs some quality time away from the kids when I thought, “Hey, I’m here, I’ll make an appointment for me, too!” So I did. Tomorrow I’m going in for a little r and r!
Hey Laura drink the OJ straight from the container, it tastes better.
Like HOMEBREW says, call in sick, have a week off, pick your feet,nose and whatever else grabs your fancy. Fart, belch slob around do what you want for a whole week and fuck what any thinks…be yourself and to hell with all else.
Well, I just got back from the salon. Appendages have been waxed, and what hair wasn’t removed was dyed and trimmed. I’ve been massaged, manicured, pedicured and just fussed over tremendously and it’s GREAT! If only I could afford to make this a weekly endeavor!
Guess I need to find a cheap, at home way to relieve my tensions. That reminds me, where has that boyfriend of mine gotten to…
How old are the children? I was doing dishes, folding laundry, and making my bed (and sometimes my parents’) from age ten on. Are they tall enough to reach the sink?
My boys are 7 and 11 and they do the dishes everynight, help with preparing dinner, and take out the trash. Given the amount of homework they get, this seems to be all they can do during the week–they do other things to help out on the weekends. My partner and I had a little talk and he’s going to be assuming more cooking duties to help out–which is nice since he’s home all the time right now and certainly has the time to do it.
Be very careful. Allowing him to cook means he will make dirty dishes. When I married the first time my darling would make dinner for guests occasionally. Getting the mashed potatoes off the ceiling was a treat. Just kidding. If you can’t go to the spa often enough, the bathroom is a fair alternative. PREPGet some epsom salts (that’s Magnesium Sulfate)put your biggest fluffiest towel in the microwave for 45 seconds to 1 minute, then wrap said towel in a heating pad. set aside in the bathroom away from the tub. Find a frivolous piece of fiction (paperback is best) Place a chair or stool next to the tub. On the stool place a hand towel, your book, wine, or chocolate or cold pizza, if that’s your comfort food. Now fill the bath with steamy water and about 1 1/2 cups of the epsom salts. STIR.
This part is very important. LOCK THE BATHROOM DOOR! Turn on some music, just loud enough to drown out the knocking and yelling. Undress, step into the hot bath, snuggle in, dry your hands on the hand towel pick up your book, and leave the kids, dogs, S.O. & job to fend for themselves for an hour. Once you’re all pruney, get out of the tub and wrap up in that yummy warm towel.
Sometimes I dream of living in the bathroom!
God how I hated that song when it came out! Thanks for the reminder, it made me giggle.