Confessions of a Harried Housewife, Chapter 2

I am not perfect nor have I ever claimed to be (much). But sometimes, my behavior is so spectacularly un-stellar that I even disappoint myself. Now that the Inner-Circle has been enlightened on Monkeys and Ass-Goblins, I am confident that not much I say or do in the realm of non-mainstream disciplinary action for my children will surprise you. Today's incident will rate in the top 10 hall of fame Worst Moments of Child Rearing for me, myself, and I. Really, this Harried Housewife Moment ranks up there.

All weekend I was sick with a virus. John brought it home last week and was sick for a day. I get it and I'm nauseous for 4. Nice. Bitter. Saturday, I had committed to a shopping outing with Addy. With high hopes of mother/daughter bonding time, the two of us planned to head downtown and explore the posh Northpark mall sporting the likes of Oilily, Neiman Marcus, Salvatore Feragamo, Anthropologie, Armani Exchange, BCBG, Dooney and Bourke, Hannah Anderson, J.Jill, Urban Outfitters, William Sonoma, White House Black Market, and about a billion other tres fab stores that just oozed boutique-ee scrumptiousity (i made that up). Amy joneses for shopping trips of this caliber. Amy joneses for her daughters to jones for shopping trips of this caliber (okay, someday I hope to get to the point in my spiritual growth where I no longer jones for such trivial and materialistic placation-just not there yet). BTW my shopping weakness is the reason I have a lingerie collection rivalling any Victoria's Secret model's. Love is the only language John speaks after a 5 hour trip to a mall like this one and the receipts to make it reality. Ok, you are catching my drift. For me, this is a day made in heaven. And Addy was actually ecstatic! She wanted to go! She picked an outfit to wear the night before, she talked incessantly about it for several days, she was on fiya. I wake up Saturday morning and I'm fully afflicted; so miserable that I actually don't want to go shopping(shocking! I know!). Bitter. However, being the selfless mother that I am, I slap on my mall jeans, new Charlotte Reusse blouse, and spike heel boots, pop some Ibuprofin, program the tele-nav and we are off. Inevitably we have a fabulous time and spend way too much money (and I am frankly a little worried about that since John couldn't pay me ENOUGH money to don the lingerie later that evening in said stricken state). When we get home my head is ready to explode and not from uber shopping vibes. I feed the kids dinner, wash my face, and hit the sack. Oh yeah, first I studied my Primary lesson cuz I had to teach a CTR5 class the following morning in Primary. Ugh.

CTR5 class. This is my new calling. I love it! I love being in Primary-it is my favorite place to serve in the church. Watching the seeds of young testimony sprout is second to none. Because I have been traveling the last few weeks, I have missed my own ward meetings for 2 consecutive Sundays so even though I am sick-QUEASY sick-I will go to church and teach my class Sunday morning like a good Mormon girl. Isn't guilt grand? Of course, the whole morning I am a complete stink-pot, I am grumbly, I am bitter, I am exhausted. All I want to do is crawl back into bed with my puffy allergy face, my nausea, and my fatigue, pull the covers over my head and sleep the blessed sleep of the undead. I don't know how it works at your house, but at my house, I am the Sunday Morning Motivator. I get everyone up. I get the church clothes on the church goers. I get the breakfast on the table. I get the Stevens' train out the door. Yay me. If Amy doesn't set the alarm, we all stay home. Chalk that up to my sum-of-reasons-to-be-bitter for the weekend. Church is "fine"....accept I thought our Primary Program was the weekend B4. I told my kids not to worry about memorizing their parts cuz we would be in Kansas; I told the Primary Pres we wouldn't be there so not to plan on my kids or myself participating. Durning the presentation we sat in the foyer and listened to the beautiful music and I watched my poor sweet children singing the songs they had worked hard to learn all year...to themselves. Yay me. Sigh. After church, I went home and crashed for 3 hours. So tired. So annoyed. So bitter.

John wakes me up by climbing into bed and announcing it's "his turn". Turn? I didn't realize taking turns was part of the bargain when one of the two parties was SICK. I get out of bed (bitter bitter bitter) and head out to the kitchen to start dinner. Oh, and I still feel like crapola. After dinner, I have work to do. Yes, I typed work. It's the Sabbath and I am working and I will not pretend like that's unusual. Didn't I preface this post with "not perfect" verbiage? Don't JUDGE ME! My hobby is my job and I have an order to mail out that needs to be packaged. I also have some necklaces I have to redo because I strung them wrong in the first place. BITTER. At least I have Dexter to keep me company. Michael C. Hall, you rock my bloody world. Ha! John has sequestered himself in his man-room watching football, so I do the bedtime routine and get the kids down. BITTER. I think he might have helped a little...it's sort of a blur at this point and I would totally loose your sympathy if you start to think he was being in any way helpful, so let's just stick with me as the martyr here. The ailing martyr. I pack school lunches (bitter) and go to bed.

Monday morning, today, I wake up at 6:30, the usual time to get the kids up and ready for school. Bitter. John is gone by that time-he had an event in Houston with his team that was not rescheduable even for a sick wife. Later, I found out it was a golfing event. Bitter! Allergy face, nausea, fever and all, I get the kids ready, feed em', cloth em', make sure their faces are clean, their teeth are brushed, they have all the necessary paper work, and drive them to school. They are totally learning that I am ridiculously annoyable when ill. Does that stop them? Not really. The bitterness has hit an all time high. Since, being a woman I haven't completely processed my feelings of bitterness yet in an effort to evaluate them, I'm freaking DONE. I just want to go back to bed and wallow in my misery for an hour or two. Sick and me, we just don't get along. I don't have time to be sick. When I get back home, I get Avery breakfast (at this juncture I'd like to point out i got her EXACTLY what she asked for-make a note) I tell her to watch her shows for a little bit because mommy's sick and wants to lay down for a while longer; I drag myself to the guest bedroom. Oh! The guest bedroom, you ask? I can't sleep in my own bed because my sweet four year-old joined us in the middle of the night, then proceeded to PEE all over me and the sheets and the comforter at about 4 in the morning. Bitter!! I was doing laundry a lot earlier than I had planned. BITTER!!! The stink of pee and the feeling of nausea are not complimentary. The joys of motherhood, right? Ok, so I go to lay down and within 5 minutes, Avery is screaming she wants "BROWN CEREAL" (which translates to Cinnamon Life). "BROWN CEREAL BROWN CEREAL I WANT BROWN CEREAL MOM GET ME BROWN CEREAL DID YOU HEAR ME I WANT BROWN CEREAL WWHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET ME BROWN CEREAL ARE YOU COMING YET MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM I WANT BROWN CEREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!" Sigh. This stretches on for 10 minutes or so.

Me from the guest bedroom: "Avery, I am sick, I am tired, I've been peed on....I just want to rest for a little bit. Did you finish your breakfast, because if not, no brown cereal."

Avery from the family room: "I don't want this breakfast. I want brown cereal. COME AND GET ME BROWN CEREAL. BROWN CEREAL BROWN CEREAL BROWN CEREAL BROWN CEREAL BROWN CEREAL BROWN CEREAL." She's yelling this, hence the capitalization. I am thinking deliriously to myself, "Is she mocking me? Is that a sing-song cadence I am detecting in her mockage?? Is she part of the conspiracy striving to drive me absolutely mad?????!!!!"

Pulse.....is......excalating........skin.....is......turning...........green!!!

I am soooooooooooooooo DONE (and bitter). My heart is racing, my hands and legs are shaking, no amount of counting to 10 and taking deep breaths is going to stop me from making a major parenting faux pas at this juncture. Avery is still ululating (LOUDLY!) for brown cereal. I throw back the covers, leap out of bed, toss my sleeping mask across the room, and storm STORM out to the family room. I punch the tv off, and boy, looking back I am sure smoke was coming out of my ears. I grab my child by the arms hoist her into the air and scream,

"THERE WILL BE NO MORE BROWN CEREAL FOR YOU IN THIS HOUSE FOR THE REST OF MY GOD GIVEN LIFE!!!! BROWN CEREAL IS EVIL, BROWN CEREAL IS POOP, BROWN CEREAL BE DAMNED!!!! AND YOU ARE GOING TO YOUR ROOM FOR THE REST OF THE DAY YOUNG LADY! CAN'T YOU GIVE ME A FREAKING BREAK! I WANT TO REST BECAUSE I AM SICK! SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK! AND YOU DON'T CARE! NOBODY CARES! (bitter) CURSE GERMS AND BROWN CEREAL!!!!AGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!"

I drag her up to her room (crying of course), toss her onto her bed, slam the door, and storm back downstairs where I first throw the sheets in the dryer and the comforter in the wash, then retrieve my sleep mask, and finally fall down on the bed. Huh. Immediately, I am sobbing. Wow. It is not very often that I am this completely ashamed of myself. How often do you dissolve into tears because you have acted like a complete schmuck to your 4 year-old? After about 2 minutes, I run up the stairs to Avery's room, nestle her into my arms and tell her how sorry I am.
"Mommy made a really bad choice to treat you that way. Mommy is feeling really sick, frustrated, and BITTER and I treated you badly because of it. That was wrong. That was a big gigantic mistake. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me, Avery? I love you so much and I am so, so sorry."

Instantly, she forgives. Hugs, kisses, tickles, smiles, all of the good things that make parenting genuinely rewarding. I am always learning the most simple and yet completely profound lessons from my children. Forgive=Happiness

So if you are a woman, you have read this and are thinking, "Gosh, why are men so clueless? I mean when we are sick, they should pick up the slack. They should take care of the kids. They should do the laundry. They should cook the meals. They should get the kids up and ready for church and school. They should offer to teach the Primary lesson. They should wait on you, hand an foot, because that's what they would expect you to do! Where is the intuitiveness!!!???? Where's the homemade chicken soup!??!?!?!?!??

Indeed.

If you are a man, you have read this and are thinking, "Why didn't she just tell him what she wanted him to do?"

DOUBLE Indeed.