All the Small Things
After performing the Nobel-worthy feat of getting both girls down for a nap simultaneously, I sank into the couch and flipped on the ever-comforting flicker of a Law & Order rerun. About fifteen minutes into an episode, I suddenly realized I was in the midst of this "free time" I'd heard so much about. I accepted that nothing constructive could come from any further mourning for Jerry Orbach and that I now faced a decision: shower, or write?After much complicated calculation, my left and right brain finally settled on somewhere in the range of no less than three, but no more than five days having passed since I last bathed. It wasn't too hot out, I could potentially sneak a quick soak in after dinner, and I was almost positive I'd changed my underwear before bed last night.
But I hadn't written in weeks, and with the computer out in the dining (and running and screaming) room, the peace that had settled over the house with El and Buddha a-snoozin' was ideal for some keyboard time.
I spent forty minutes on the couch, paralyzed with indecision. Why was this such a hard choice to make?
In the last three and half years, I'd managed to choose kids over a career, monogamy over bachelorhood. From the moment I met my children, all the toughest choices in their lives became ridiculously manageable. I would take them to my breast, take them in my bed, take them no matter what issues or quirks or ugly bumps they arrived with or later developed. Allergies, learning disorders, high-priced schools, tantrums, poop on the floor, puke in my hair, tears all around - fuck it all: I was going to listen to them and listen to my instincts and we were all going to be okay. I had the big things down.
But somehow, the little things were dragging me down. Paper or plastic? Sweatpants or skirt? Coffee or tea? Shower or write? Why can I suddenly not embrace my own personal chaos the same way I have embraced the chaos of motherhood?
I picked a shower, and as soon as the glob of conditioner hit my palm, El awoke frantic and screaming to not have me in the room and then stood weeping on the other side of the shower curtain while I hastily rinsed what soap I had managed to get on myself, off of myself. Buddha woke scant moments later to nurse. And I rubbed the beginnings of a migraine on my temple, mildly irritated, yet somehow soothed by their company.
One bowl of macaroni and cheese, two viewings of 'The Lion King' and yet another change of Fisher Price swing batteries later, I deliver this meager essay, stunned that I managed to shower (more or less) AND write (more or less) today. And decide it is not the little things that befuddle my confidence and judgment and personal choices - as much as I love them, it's the little people that do me in.
posted by tumpover @ 3:13 PM
5 Comments:
I love it. In my precious free time today I was paralyzed by the choice of making lunch or doing laundry. So I watched "Little House on the Prairie". Willis from "Diff' Strokes" was the guest star. (Dear lord)
Despite my indecision, I'm also terrified by the thought of having even less free time when this new kiddo arrives.
When is AustinMama House opening?
Ah, with my scant free time I employ my own version of a Curves circuit. Only with my circuit I create curves. As the kiddos sleep, I move from the computer, to reading a trashy magazine, to watching some TV, and then back to the computer. My ass is swelling just thinking of it.
And, dude, what is UP with FP swings and batteries? I could build a fort out of all the dead batteries I have from that thing. Maybe we could use dead batteries and melted Happy Meal Toys to build the AustinMama house?
"From the moment I met my children, all the toughest choices in their lives became ridiculously manageable. I would take them to my breast, take them in my bed, take them no matter what issues or quirks or ugly bumps they arrived with or later developed. Allergies, learning disorders, high-priced schools, tantrums, poop on the floor, puke in my hair, tears all around - fuck it all: I was going to listen to them and listen to my instincts and we were all going to be okay. I had the big things down."
Amen, sistah. We're all going to be okay.
Keep choosing to write, mama. ;)
hey, so, how'd the ingalls family deal with a real "colored" in their town? i bet nellie threw some big rocks (in a glass house?), maybe tripped him into a mud puddle.
No no... he was "a real live negro person". Laura kicked everyone's ass if they messed with him.
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