Get up. Get yourself up because if you roll over it will be far more painful to get up later and you won't have gotten a work-out in. Get up. Whatever you do, remember the passport forms today.
Drive. Push it push it, spin, spin, spin. Do you want to waste away in your seventies? Look flabby in that "hot" one-piecer you just picked up? Then push it.
Drive home. Have you sent those thank you cards? I wonder how my friends are. How long has it been since I talked to Jen? Later.
Coffee, coffee, thank the Good Lord for coffee.
Kids in the house. Warm, sleepy, hugs. Delicious.
"Sorry, no yogurt today."
"I know you eat yogurt each and every day, but there's none today, and there's no toast either. There are some perfectly good Cheerios. Yes I am a failure as a mother, thank you very much."
Laundry, laundry, there's always laundry.
Exactly six more minutes until they need to be in school. If there's no food in their stomachs by then I'm a bad mother.
"EAT!!!! I DON'T CARE, PUDDING, CHICKEN LEGS, JUST GET SOME FOOD IN!" Was that the demon me?
"What is on your feet?" Still too cold for sandals, but sandals it is, what will her teacher say? Two minutes left. "Get those sandals on your feet. Where is your homework? WHERE IS YOUR HOMEWORK!?" Bad mother. Socks might help. No time for socks. Aren't I capable than more than these thoughts? But I love them. I love them to the ends of the earth, and I'm their mother, and that's the truth.
Work, work. Perpetually behind. What on earth did I do with my time before? Are my kid's feet freezing? Was it my turn for snack? What's on for the weekend? Birthday party. Present, card, dinner. Google recipes. Healthy, of course, and fabulous. List. I need a hot grocery list.
Imagine he had to do a monstrosity like Christmas? There's my fun thought for the day.
Present, done. Too much money, but fit the time window, all good. Groceries. How in the hell did this just cost $130, when it will only last two days? And I know I missed something. I hereby resolve to use every leftover that exists in my fridge from this day forward. I throw out too much. Guilt. Starving children. But what to do when my kids don't EAT anything? I hereby resolve to force my kids to eat something.
Pick-up. Greatest smiles and reunion ever. "How was school?" Nothing. Does that mean something? What are those moms looking at? What exactly are those moms looking at?
Old. So old. Lines, wrinkles, folds. Botox? Gym. I need new clothes. I shouldn't care.
Wine, wine, thank the Good Lord for wine.
"Eat, eat, for the love of God will you eat? And if anyone on this earth loves me, let what you eat be green."
I clean up. And now...
"Get clean." When I so expeditiously signed up for this role, did I realize two kids would mean I would have to shampoo hair and brush teeth every day for eight years? And they still somehow get cavities. Bad mother.
Stories, I do love stories. I'm two lines ahead, so I can read two lines well.
Snuggles, I do love snuggles.
I love your warm little body, but not necessarily your wide, open eyes, at this moment specifically. Would you just. Please. Fall. Asleep.
Husband time. Really? Bed time. I had the biggest plans. I would have solved the world's problems if I could have made it past 11 pm. Written the best novel. Sold my house on Kijiji. But I failed. Shocker, because it happened yesterday too. The passport forms! The thank-you cards! Bad mother.
Can't sleep, although I'm exhausted. Today's worries: Should I be doing more? Contributing more to society? Volunteering? I watch The News. I can talk politics. I have a few degrees. How do people find the time? Damn, I didn't call Jen.
It's 12:30 am: I'm awake, I'm awake. Noises. Puking? Run, you can save it, run, run, dangle him, dangle him, well, at least you got half of it. Wash bed or wash him? Need help, but he has to work, I can zombie. He helps! Shower sleepy, sick boy, Febreeze the bed. Throw out the pillow? Food poisoning? Fever? Hospital? No fever of 104 so they'll politely tell me I'm an idiot. Sleep half-awake and monitor, that will do. I hope to God that will do. Is he okay?
Are they okay?
Until the day I die: Are. They. Okay?
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I kind-of get it now. It's hard, but I wouldn't trade it for anything either.
By Ann Moore
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
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