April 12, 2012

I Digress, Like A Boss!

April 5, 2012

I have this really annoying fear of being lazy.  It causes me to run myself ragged sometimes.

I remember when my kids were little, doing the stay-at-home-mom gig.  I constantly felt lazy.  I never felt like the weary, exhausted momma elbow-deep in diapers and tiny socks and public meltdowns.  Yeah, I experienced all that, but for some reason I was convinced that it wasn't enough to qualify me as respectably busy.  It was my own neurosis, I assure you.  I have always felt that way.  If I am not single-handedly moving mountains, then I am lazy. 

I can chill on the weekends.  Strangely enough, I can chill on rainy days, though I don't know why.  I can chill if we have company, surprisingly.  Before company, I go completely schizophrenic.  Cleaning, bitching if what I previously cleaned gets messed up, bitching if I delegate jobs that get the half-ass treatment by poor, confused men who flinch at my unreachable standard.  But after the company is here?  I'm a lump.

On the weekdays, though.  Different story.   I don't have little ones to wake me up, yet I still obsessively set my alarm.   Sometimes, my sleep cycle gets so screwed up that I will wake up with the alarm, stay up for about half an hour, and then collapse on the couch for another hour or so.  That's when I start mentally beating myself up until I am finally able to pry my eyes open and stay awake.  Sometimes, I go through a week or so of waking up every two hours on the dot all night long.  Sometimes, Sarge or the kids will tell me they saw me asleep on the couch at 2 or 3 in the morning, sitting straight up, eyes half closed.  Sarge woke up a few days ago at around 4 or so; I wasn't in the bed.  He didn't know where I was.   He woke up again at 6:30 and I was magically in the bed again.  Of course, I don't remember this.

I think I am afraid I'm going to miss something while I am asleep.  Because, you know, the middle of the night is when all the cool stuff happens.  

Once I am finally awake, though, my head is a perpetual steam engine.  Move, move, move.   I do yoga.  Run.  If I don't feel like I've done enough, I'll hop on the elliptical until I am satisfied.  Shower.  Move, move, move.  I know something has to be cleaned.  I will find something.  No dirty laundry?  I'll start taking sheets off the bed.  Vacuuming curtains.  Baseboards behind the furniture.  I start dinner around noon.  I shit you not.  It's sort of justified considering I work from 2 to 10pm.  I can stop intermittently to stick something in the oven or check a boiling pot, but not long enough to cook a whole meal, so I try to get the bulk of it done before work.  The boys help a lot.  They have their own things they do.  Andrew is my dish boy.  Jake has the trash.  He's supposed to do his bathroom, too, but he slacks on it.  (For SHAME!  I know you're reading this, dirtbag.  Last I checked, there wasn't even any toilet paper in there.  Dirtbag.)

You know, it's funny.  My kids would do so much more if I asked them.  Not only would they do it, they'd do it without batting an eye.  And most of the time, they'll do it the minute I ask them.  No complaining, no sighs of inconvenience.  Nope, none of it.   It's funny.  I think that's why I don't.  Ask them to, that is. 

Well, and because Jake does a kickass impression of me.  Sometimes, I am a miniature tyrannosaurus rex.  He emphasizes the tiny arms and rage.  And sometimes, I am a WWF pro wrestler, fearlessly throwing down the gauntlet to anyone who dares challenge my authority.  And sometimes, he just puts shoes on his knees and walks around the living room barking orders.

Andrew has perfected the stare.  That kid is beanpole, see.  As tall as his Dad, easy.  If I'm standing right next to him, I have to crank my neck all the way back just to look at him.  And he stares directly down at me.  With his goofy ass smile.  And his little sunshine baby hazel eyes.  I used to fall asleep on the couch singing "You Are My Sunshine" with that little monster sleeping on my chest and his thumb popped in his mouth.   I used to dance around the living room with him giggling while I sang "Dance, Dance, Dance" from the Steve Miller Band.  And now he's looking down at me?  What does this have to do with this blog post?  I swear I had a point.  Damn it.

Oh right, I think it had something to do with me being a far too indulgent momma, with a propensity to still see my babies as babies.... until they pick me up, or get a crick in their neck from looking down at me, or tell me to get out of the way before I hurt myself when trying to reach stuff on the top shelf.

I think that was it.  Yes.  I'm sure of it.

I swear I don't cut their meat.  Or wipe the boogies off their noses.  I do straighten the decorative towels in their bathroom, though.  That's how I noticed there isn't any toilet paper in their bathroom.  I am now waiting to see how long it takes them to notice.    

So, yeah. 

I'm fucking tired.

TIRED.

I'm gonna get a video of Jake's impressions of me.  It'll totally go viral.  He'll be a star.  He'll be on Tosh.0.  Someone will see him on TV and he'll be offered a starring role in Transformers 14.   Then he can buy me and Sarge a house.  He'll probably have to go to the Betty Ford Clinic because he got hooked on blow.  But when he's out, he'll be a motivational speaker, so it will all work out in the end.  Until he gets 10 years in the slammer for tax evasion.  Then Sarge and I will have to sell our house to pay his court costs.  That little dirtbag!  He is soooo grounded......

4 comments:

  1. are we related? we need a blood test.

    I abhor laziness. It's the worst sin. Actually sin is fun. Laziness is just awful. I can't relax ever. yes I have an anxiety disorder but I still have to be busy. I'm reading/commenting you, folding clothes, feeding a cat, and writing a story for my friend's blog for tomorrow morning.

    the girls do impressions of me, too. The 8-year-old, the one with my DNA has me down perfectly. She jumps around, kisses everyone, yells at the tv when football is on, and opens up my laptop and runs her hands thru her hair like a stressed out writer.

    Tay, the oldest one, mimics me in the car. fidgeting, yelling at slow drivers, sighing when someone changes the radio to something i hate, and mimics my eddie vedder impression i do.

    the 7 year old has my walk down, and how i kiss my wife. it's hilarious.

    when im not around i hear they talk wonderfully about me. when i am around they give me holy hell

    that's love, dude. totally

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  2. The impressions are awesome, truly. I am actually honored that they know me so well and want to spend time with me at all. Though I am not sure what it is, we must be doing something right.

    Yelling at slow drivers? Oh yeah. Uh huh. Jake looooves doing that impression, too.

    We're pretty awesome, you know.

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  3. *Smile*

    Lovely post. Also, thanks for reminding me how great it is to be closer to the kids changing my diapers than me changing theirs.

    I'm just wondering who's going to come along and admit they are lazy. 'Cause I find those people are usually all about owning it as well. They do not give a rat's about who knows it. I can name 10 people who have no kids or pets, eat out every night, and barely make it to work by 8:30am. They are not apologetic nor do I impress them.

    I get up at 5am so I can do housework before I get the kids ready, fix lunches, drop kids off at 2 schools, yell at the oldest to wake the fuck up and drive 20 miles to work. They get their pound of flesh and then I come home and start on the list I made at work (after having run errands at lunch and sometimes on the way home). I start running at 9:00pm at night because that's when people finally leave me the hell alone. It is so great to run in the dark. I have a good friend who hit and killed a walker in broad daylight (recently) so my sentiment is "Oh well--we all have a date."

    I absolutely do not say any of this to seem a martyr. It's totally and unequivocally FUN. It's a super high-that and eating a Panera cinnamon crunch bagel the other day for the first time since 2003.

    But here's where we diverge--I screwed up royally. There's no kid here who's going to love me for giving out more chores. They don't live for cleanliness like I do, so "punishing" them with piled up laundry is not going to get it. The only solution would be me getting in a car and deciding east or west and calling back about a week later with a list of my demands. Don't think I haven't considered it. Not because I am lazy, but it has occurred to me that if they are doing the mundane shit, I can go be active doing some more fun shit.

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  4. Honestly? I think that is WHY I have such a fear of seeming lazy, because I could be if I wanted to. I'm not that kind of mom, the kind of mom my mom was, and the kind of mom most moms are. I don't shuttle kids everywhere all day long, I don't go to a job where I have to deal with other people and other issues, I don't have to deal with the school system or any of those things. I am very, very well aware of the differences in my lifestyle comparatively. My mom was a single mom with 3 daughters, and I remember that, all the things she did, constantly busy, trying to squeeze in time for herself and the things she enjoyed, all of it. I tried it for a couple years, when Jake started kindergarten. I was going to college full-time, taking Jake to school and Andrew to daycare. And I will fully admit that I hated every moment of it and it really and truly was the closest to insane I have ever felt in my life. When Sarge got orders to Korea, I had never been so damn happy to have an excuse to drop off the face of the Earth, or at least the portion of it that had turned into my hell. Walking away from that lifestyle saved my sanity. It was just not a road I was capable of taking, and so I found my own road. Because I had to. So I absolutely think my fear of laziness stems from that. I work at home, I homeschool my kids, they're far removed from all the team sports they played when they were younger, so there isn't even that anymore. Yeah, you could definitely say that I feel the need to make myself busy. But on the other hand, I love this lifestyle as much as other moms love theirs. It has its ups and downs, but the alternative would land me in a padded room. It almost did. I would LOVE to go running at night, though. I have wanted to many, many times, but they don't call it "Fayettenam" for nothing. I wouldn't even run at night in a gated neighborhood here. I am counting the months til our beach bum retirement....

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Suck on my crap