the fast lane
Last weekend was one of those where the kids were into EVERY thing. It rained some- was hot and buggy- and since they weren't outdoors expending energy, bad things went down.
There was the mountain of unrolled toilet paper in the bathroom, the pizza grease and juice box on the carpet, the "potions" found on the counters and smeared on mirrors, and the usual slew of toys strewn from foyer to back stoop.
Last night I opened Woman's Day to an article on finding relaxation in the every day: "The Slow Lane; 13 ways to stop rushing, recharge and take back your life" by Chrystie Fielder. It featured a picture of a woman sitting on a white chair with a white fur blanket in casually sexy pjs sipping a cup of tea. Her skin was flawless and porcelain, her eyebrows perfectly arched, her lashes perfectly long, and her full lips slightly curved in a peaceful smile. The article discussed decompressing between tasks, taking naps, listening to a song on the radio before the next errand, and finding "me" time.
Two words for obviously childless and young (spells her name with a "y" and "ie")Chrystie: YAAAAH RIGHT!
I mean, I like what she's saying and I agree that some time of solitude every day would be very appreciated, but that usually doesn't happen without someone needing their bottom wiped. Sure, I could listen to a song between errands IF I COULD HEAR IT over the impatient brood in the back crying out for drink, food, potty and Revolution. Sure, I could find myself a white fur blanket and modern white chair to sit on with a cup of tea... I could even buy myself some new, casually sexy pjs, and get some eyelash extensions... but that would be ridiculous. The chair would be covered in small hand prints, the blanket in soggy Cheerios, and my tea would get cold while I changed the world's grossest diaper, (simultaneously putting the casually sexy pjs at risk of being soiled, my lash extensions at risk of becoming dislodged during the "wrestle the baby" routine.)
I love, love, love my strong, wrestle-mania-bound children. I am thankful they are healthy and that they are mine. But I can't help but find it humorous when articles attempt to make it sound like there is a way to have it all in this intense season. This becomes blatantly clear when one is cleaning up child A's spilt milk and the two tiny hands of Child C scoop, cup, and lift one's buttox in an attempt to see exactly what is taking place.
You've seen the chapters in marriage books about staying romantically involved during the child-rearing years. Well would somebody please admit that that's a huge oxymoron? Somebody! I mean, would I not- WOULD I NOT- have to have multi-personalities to transition seamlessly from one a_ _ - grabbing in the kitchen to another in the bedroom?? I would, Amen?! "Karen" would handle the kitchen, and "Katalina," the master suite... and "Katie" would come blog to you about it...
(And Chrystie with a "y" and "ie" should probably stick to articles about purses, or fake tanners, or else label her pieces warning: does not apply to women with preschoolers- bahahaha.)
