As I woke up this morning I realized that instead of dreaming I had been blogging...in my sleep. All I remember is looking at another one of kactiguy's great sketches, which for some reason compelled me to write a cheeky comment about how sleeping under the stars is overrated. What woke me up was the startling realization that I was using italics in my blog--in real life I don't know how to italicize in blogwrit.
Anyhow, I'm wondering if blogging in my sleep isn't a sign I may be spending too much time in blogworld. (The last time I remember trying to do something real in my sleep was when I was working two full-time jobs. I was a hoe-r by day and I worked in a pizza joint by night. Pulling weeds in one's sleep actually sends one into a deeper sleep, but frantically trying to take a pizza order in one's pajamas is a little disconcerting.) I guess one can only put off doing yesterday's dishes so long before they become last week's dishes. It would be tragic to get so busy blogging I pull a Rip Van Winkle (or Wrinkle, as Lorien aptly put it) thing and didn't return from the land of blog till after my children were grown and retirement was looming. Although there are days when that would be quite tempting...
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
the joy of reveille
School starts in less than a week and although returning to some semblance of a routine appeals to me, there is one thing I am not looking forward to...getting two teenagers, both teeming with testosterone, out of bed in time for them to arrive at Provo High by 7:30AM.
I am one of those unfortunate mothers cursed by the mixed-up-genes fates, who I imagine take great delight in my situation. First Son, the grumpy one, can't get out of bed (even after knock down drag out battles with his mother) and--being the budding metrosexual he is--requires an exact and exorbitant amount of time in the shower, grooming his hair, chewing his french toast and then brushing his teeth and gargling mouthwash for the requisite 2 minutes! Second Son--the previously (till the hormones took over) cheerful one--can get out of bed and in and out of the shower in a flash and be out the door somewhere between zero and ten minutes, not caring at all about the end results. Of course any other genetic balance of these three traits--disposition, ability to get out of bed, and attention to grooming detail--would've worked better in my favor. To quote Snoopy (or was it Charlie Brown?), as I am often wont to do, "ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"
I frequently remind my husband that getting four--yes, I only have four--children out the door in the morning is like cramming in an eight-hour work day in between the hours of 6:00 and 8:30 a.m. I have a lovely ritual when it's all over, however. I calmly shut the door, fasten the dead-bolt, then--depending on what kind of morning it has been--either let out a long and luxurious sigh as I slide down against the back of the door to the floor, or let out an ear-crushing primal scream. Either makes me feel much better.
I am one of those unfortunate mothers cursed by the mixed-up-genes fates, who I imagine take great delight in my situation. First Son, the grumpy one, can't get out of bed (even after knock down drag out battles with his mother) and--being the budding metrosexual he is--requires an exact and exorbitant amount of time in the shower, grooming his hair, chewing his french toast and then brushing his teeth and gargling mouthwash for the requisite 2 minutes! Second Son--the previously (till the hormones took over) cheerful one--can get out of bed and in and out of the shower in a flash and be out the door somewhere between zero and ten minutes, not caring at all about the end results. Of course any other genetic balance of these three traits--disposition, ability to get out of bed, and attention to grooming detail--would've worked better in my favor. To quote Snoopy (or was it Charlie Brown?), as I am often wont to do, "ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"
I frequently remind my husband that getting four--yes, I only have four--children out the door in the morning is like cramming in an eight-hour work day in between the hours of 6:00 and 8:30 a.m. I have a lovely ritual when it's all over, however. I calmly shut the door, fasten the dead-bolt, then--depending on what kind of morning it has been--either let out a long and luxurious sigh as I slide down against the back of the door to the floor, or let out an ear-crushing primal scream. Either makes me feel much better.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
of work and women
Yesterday I was talking to a real rarity--a woman who has remained a stay-at-home mom even after all her kids have been in school for some time now. She is also rarity because she's one of the first people who hasn't asked me what I'm going to do now that all my kids will be in school full-time this year.
To be fair, this is a question I have asked myself a hundred times (or more) over the past year in anticipation of this major milestone in my life. But there are several implications in this question and the resulting discussion that make me wonder if this milestone must necessarily become a turning point. The first is that all of a sudden motherhood isn't such a huge job and I have time for something like, I don't know--another career--in my life. The second is that my kids somehow don't need a full-time mother any more. The last--and the one that perhaps disturbs me the most--is that I can't/won't be contributing to society if I don't get some kind of demanding important job. (Like I need two of those?)
Even with maybe 5 1/2 more discretionary hours in the day--the actual time from when I return from getting the last ones off to the time the first ones might reasonably be expected to be home--I still feel the heavy responsibilities inherent in managing schedules, home and finances. And that's really just the secondary aspect of motherhood. The real job--raising kids--doesn't get any easier. In fact, I'm finding the problems get bigger and motherhood takes even more energy now than it did when I was chasing toddlers around. Even though they would never admit it, my kids need me now more than ever. I still need to be an active volunteer in their schools and be present on the first row at every choir or band concert, football, basetball or soccer game, and be there when they walk out the door and when they walk back in.
What bugs are comments like "You're only 40--you still have time to get in a good career, " or the encouragement from well-meaning family and friends to find a good job as a way to contribute to society. The implication is that my work as a mother is not as valued as the paid work of someone outside the home and that I must now pursue a career in order to become a productive citizen.
In spite of knowing better, I still find myself seduced by the whisperings of the world: "Now it's time for you. Now you can be somebody. Now you can make a difference." As if those possibilities haven't existed all along. As I contemplate what's next for me I will try to keep priorities in perspective. I do know that whatever I choose I will find ways to challenge myself, share my talents and develop new ones and use my energy in ways that are meaningful--whether or not a paycheck is attached.
To be fair, this is a question I have asked myself a hundred times (or more) over the past year in anticipation of this major milestone in my life. But there are several implications in this question and the resulting discussion that make me wonder if this milestone must necessarily become a turning point. The first is that all of a sudden motherhood isn't such a huge job and I have time for something like, I don't know--another career--in my life. The second is that my kids somehow don't need a full-time mother any more. The last--and the one that perhaps disturbs me the most--is that I can't/won't be contributing to society if I don't get some kind of demanding important job. (Like I need two of those?)
Even with maybe 5 1/2 more discretionary hours in the day--the actual time from when I return from getting the last ones off to the time the first ones might reasonably be expected to be home--I still feel the heavy responsibilities inherent in managing schedules, home and finances. And that's really just the secondary aspect of motherhood. The real job--raising kids--doesn't get any easier. In fact, I'm finding the problems get bigger and motherhood takes even more energy now than it did when I was chasing toddlers around. Even though they would never admit it, my kids need me now more than ever. I still need to be an active volunteer in their schools and be present on the first row at every choir or band concert, football, basetball or soccer game, and be there when they walk out the door and when they walk back in.
What bugs are comments like "You're only 40--you still have time to get in a good career, " or the encouragement from well-meaning family and friends to find a good job as a way to contribute to society. The implication is that my work as a mother is not as valued as the paid work of someone outside the home and that I must now pursue a career in order to become a productive citizen.
In spite of knowing better, I still find myself seduced by the whisperings of the world: "Now it's time for you. Now you can be somebody. Now you can make a difference." As if those possibilities haven't existed all along. As I contemplate what's next for me I will try to keep priorities in perspective. I do know that whatever I choose I will find ways to challenge myself, share my talents and develop new ones and use my energy in ways that are meaningful--whether or not a paycheck is attached.
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