Today, child-free and momentarily without other obligation, I put on a movie and painted my giraffe.
This is noteworthy for the former as much as the latter because I’ve not watched a DVD in well over two years which surely must be a national record. In fact the brand-new device emerged from its box some six months ago after languishing in a closet for the year and a half prior; I learned only right this very moment how to operate the remote (until now I’d been poking buttons on the player itself, a method quaint and dated as meals frozen in crinkly tin and reheated in the oven). Now that’s an accomplishment.
Why did I possess a giraffe in need of paint? Three springs ago, taking my eldest to school while her siblings squawked accompaniment, she spotted a black and white shape nosing from a neighbor’s trash pile. “They’re throwing out their giraffe!” my daughter yelled. “We have to save it!” It wasn’t the first time I’d rescued some useful yet decrepit item from the clutches of the trash truck, nor would it be the last. We circled the block and hey-ho the giraffe had a new home.
He’s sat amidst the mint since then, losing black paint and gaining some sort of green mould while month after month I resolved to give him back his stripes. He was thrown out for a reason, I told myself sternly. He was thrown out because he was trash, and the mere placing of trash in a garden without suitable repairs does not detrashify it. Today at long last I purchased paint and, determined to keep the inertia going, sat down with a brush even before I’d put away the milk. A mere thirty-six months later than originally planned, I enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment that comes with a task at long last complete.
You would think that the feeling might have lasted longer than the time that it took to reinstate my long-necked friend back into his minty bower. You would be wrong. All I could see were weeds, weeds that before a child (and then two, and then three) I would have nudged out with the tip of a shoe on my daily tour of this tiny domain. Now I cannot tour. I cannot weed. I cannot even paint my giraffe without suffering the most grievous pangs of guilt that I should instead be doing one of the fifty-seven thousand other tasks necessary to keep house and home and all the people therein from certain chaos.
And yet I know other mothers are busier than me. Some mothers are lawyers and doctors who leave the house to perform their duties. Some have more than three children THOUGH I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY THEY WOULD. Surely they manage everything they need to do and keep their giraffes in good working order. Surely they manage it, but I don’t know how. I so wish I knew how people do it!
People, how do you do it?
I’VE JUST BEEN INFORMED THAT IT IS A ZEBRA, NOT A GIRAFFE. WTH IS WRONG WITH ME? DON’T ANSWER THAT!
*giggling madly*
I love you!!!
“People, how do you do it?”
Simply answered, we don’t, or we hire staff. I say that as a nanny who has been in many a house run by a mom, working or otherwise. It’s just a myth that we perpetuate among ourselves that other parents must be doing it better, and frankly is does us all a great disservice!
(On a side note, children have been known to enjoy pulling weeds. Especially if it’s worth a few cents a weed, or if it’s a contest. Otherwise, I suggest becoming a fan of permaculture, where weeds are your friends. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Permaculture )
Amen to that. As a mom who works full time, tends to a husband with a host of medical issues while he oversees the care of a single four year old and promises to do all of the house work and then really accomplishes nothing other than ensuring her learning and safety and his own survival (which is plenty… I’m not complaining), I get left with all the rest. The funny part is that I think we’re all thinking everyone else is doing it better than we are and Lily is totally right. We run around making all these grand comparisons when it really doesn’t matter if it took 5 years to paint the zebra or if the kids had milk at only two meals today rather than three, of if they forgot their bike helmet once or twice this week or if they ate cereal for dinner or horror of all horrors you both fell asleep (and stayed that way most of the night) while cuddling in mom’s bed as requested, begged for and whined about, while a myriad of toys lay strewn about the living room floor and you know full well you really intended to pick them up.
What works for you and your family is the right thing to do. It may not be right for the neighbors, the inlaws or anyone else… but if it’s right for you, its all good.
As Lilly 2 said, we don’t.
I work part time, freelance copywrite part time and shuttle my disabled son to his therapy and doctor appointments, then come home and do my chores: cooking, cleaning,etc. And I find time for me. How to I do this? I’m married, and my husband is a true partner (this took time and training, but it was worth it!), plus I have family nearby who are ready, willing and able to help. Oh, and I’ve learned to just be in the moment and let go of a lot of expectations. Some things can absolutely wait while I take a bath and read a book. Or watch a movie. Or play with my son and the dogs. Or scratch my husband’s back. The mess will be there when I get to it. I am very blessed, btw.
You have to examine your priorities and decide that some things don’t matter that much. And then learn to shut off your brain to them while you do what does matter.
I think I’m printing this response and setting it somewhere to see frequently. I’m having issues as a child-less, married (but living 6 horrible hours apart to work while she’s in school) person. I forget that last part. Frequently.
I wanted to post a response about your giraffe and ask about it being a zebra instead but I refrained and kept laughing.
OMG THAT’S SO MEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!
:)
Pity…I would have liked to have seen a black and white stripy giraffe!
Ob. SNL
Announcer: Meet Ellen Sherman, Cleveland housewife and mother.
Housewife: Hi! I’m a nuclear physicist and commissioner of consumer affairs. In my spare time I do needlepoint, read, sculpt, take riding lessons and brush up on my knowledge of current events. Thursday is my day at the day care center and then there’s my work with the deaf but I still have time left over to do all my own baking and practice my backhand even though I’m on call 24 hours a day as a legal aide (fades out)
Announcer: How does Ellen Sherman do it all? She’s smart. She takes Speed! The tiny blue diet pill you don’t have to be overweight to need.
Housewife: And then I collect these paper bags and I have them right here, all folded and everything, in case anyone needs a paper bag I have one (fades out)
Announcer: Yes, Speed.
Housewife: (fades in) ‘cause I fold them neatly you know, I don’t fold them just any old way (fades out)
Announcer: Why not ask your family doctor for a prescription today? And when that runs out, you can ask your neighbor’s doctor. And your mother’s doctor. And your college roommate’s doctor. And your best friend from high school’s doctor. And your babysitter’s doctor . . . (fades out)
I have to say, the transcript doesn’t to justice to the original :)
I was so excited to see how “painted my giraffe” could possibly be a euphemism for masturbation… and I read the post… and it was really about painting a giraffe.
I come to this blog because I want to paint my own giraffe. But now I’m only in the mood to do crafts.
I like my giraffe way better, even thought he’s only a zebra.