| Home > Journal > It's Hard To Be Good When It Feels Good To Be Bad--And I'm Not Even Talking About The Boys |
| It's Hard To Be Good When It Feels Good To Be Bad--And I'm Not Even Talking About The Boys | | Date Created: Oct 23, 2006, 11:56 AM |
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I think one reason for the ever-growing popularity of blogs is the feeling that if you confess your sins, hang-ups, short-comings to "the whole world"/whomever you can bribe to read your blog you are magically forgiven. If I get the guys late to school three days straight--just as an imaginary example, say--but then manage to explain it and justify it and even make a joke about it in the blog, it's all good. And I don't really have to make a greater effort to get them there on time, such as waking up a little earlier or brushing their teeth and getting their shoes on rather than studying my skin in the mirror or waiting for Al to give us the weather report. Again. I don't know what's with me the last week or so but I have been so self-indulgent. And here I am explaining it all away so I don't have to change anything. It is true I don't have a babysitter right now (Will's mom has helped out a ton, though) and I've been staying home with the boys a lot more than I used to. But for some reason I feel like if I'm staying at home with them and everyone' still alive by the time Will gets home I've accomplished an awful awful lot. I'm using my time at home as an excuse to do nothing else! I don't think I changed one diaper all weekend. I didn't load the dishwasher. I sat on the sofa and read and dozed. I sat in the big brown chair and read and dozed. I read the local newspaper and the Wall Street Journal front-to-back. I even chided Will for not knowing the specific issues of the school board members--at the very moment he was cleaning up the boys' breakfast! I haven't called my friends. I haven't written in my blog (please tell me you checked at least once since my last entry...). I left the cups and bowls from the boys' snack on Friday on the porch all weekend. I am bad bad bad.
But I promise to be better or at least a little better. It hit me around 6:30 last night that I need to get my ass back in gear. I threw the afghan off, jumped from the big brown chair, stretched my creaky bones, and made a grocery list and got my butt to the grocery store. To atone for all my bad mother/wife/life-partner/friend/blogger ways, I have rededicated my life to domestic harmony and efficiency. This morning I assembled--for the first time in my life--a crock pot meal. So Will will walk in from work and smell how much I love him. So there will be so little to clean with everything there in one pot. So I can congratulate myself all day as I pass through the kitchen and look with satisfaction at the bubbles and streams of condensation on the lid. So I can say, "I've got a great brisket recipe the boys just love." So I can have supper ready at a decent hour instead of having four pots boiling over, sharp knives scattered where little hands can find them, and a bottle of wine half-drunk helping me coordinate and multi-task. The crock pot just may save me.
And yet. Just when I thought I had made it through my cloud of domestic discontent, I hit a stumbling block this morning. What started as a feeling of smug pride when I actually remembered it was picture day at the boys' school, quickly turned to panic and that old familiar ringing in my ears of BAD MOTHER. Note to grandmothers: this is in no way a cry for a shopping spree or trip to the outlets! I take full responsibility for the following clothes crisis. The boys simply had nothing to wear this morning. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. I had made myself remember picture day and I guess there was no room left for remembering they would need something to wear. Last week I even got the boys some cute shirts to wear for their Christmas picture. This is a tip-of-the-iceburg example of how my mind fails to work. Thinks to get something for two months away--fails to think of three days away! And of course I realized I could use the new shirts for the school picture, but I didn't want to use the same shirts for both pictures (I know--I'm insane). And John had worn his picture shirt on Saturday to the football game and of course it was still dirty. So between it being dirty and not wanting to repeat outfits, I had to dig deep in their closets. Now don't mistake me for being a good mother here (as if!) who actually cares that her boys look nice for their Mother's Morning Out picture. It's much more vain and self-involved than that--see how little progress I've made! I would even prefer that the boys wore something cute and casual for their school pictures. But I didn't want the teachers and the other mothers to THINK I had FORGOTTEN it was picture day. So I felt compelled to dress the boys nicely to make it obvious I had remembered. Even though they tried to trip me up by putting it on Monday. I showed them. But, again. Not exactly. So I dressed them. And when John complained it didn't look so good I really couldn't argue and just fell back on old reliable, "I don't care what it looks like. You're wearing it!" And so that is how the boys came to wear their spread-collar button-downs a size too big with gaudy stripes and their shirt-tails tucked out. They look like little mobsters. In tennis shoes. To make matters worse, it was really cold this morning. Will had a good suggestion. Just put sweaters on them. But we don't have any sweaters that fit. BAD MOTHER has bought herself a new pair of jeans and a new sweater, yet hasn't bothered to make sure the boys have any of these. BAD BAD BAD!
No wonder John has had to create a new friend to offset the bad example of his mother. That's right. Please help me welcome to the Gantt-Bagwell household our first imaginary friend: "Pocatina." I found out about her over the weekend. John was playing in the extra bathroom upstairs that doesn't really get used. I asked what he was doing and he said he was playing with Pocatina.
I said, "Who's Pocatina?"
"A friend."
"Where is she?"
"She's workin'."
And apparently she has a pretty rough work schedule because of course I can't resist asking John questions about her and every time I ask where she is she's workin'. I don't know where. I've heard bookstore and library but nothing for certain. I know she's a girl his age and they read books together. I'm dying to know more but I'm afraid if I grill him too much he'll feel self-conscious about it. He did say she was his girlfriend without any prompting from me. I didn't really know he even knew the word or concept of "girlfriend" and I don't know where he heard it. Who is this Pocatina? If there is anyone out there who knows of some Pocatina on a movie or TV show the boys might have seen without me please fill me in. I know they haven't seen Disney's Pocahontas, so that can't be it. Who knows. I am completely fascinated by our new friend and will keep you posted as more details become available.
In other news the boys' long tenure of good behavior has come to an end. I'm not saying they've been really bad or anything lately, just a little less of that Oh-My-God-Y'all-Are-So-Much-Fun-To-Be-With-All-Of-The-Time-I'm-Completely-Overwhelmed-With-How-Absolutely-Wonderful-You-All-Are thing going on. Too many demands and complaints. Fix this. I want this. Get this. My shoes hurt. My shirt's too small. My nose is running. That's my stick. I don't like that. These PJ's don't match. The sun's out. It's raining. And on and on. Ugh. George's biggest crushing moments lately have been when it's time to turn the TV off. In the morning the boys watch cartoons while Will fixes their breakfast and I get them dressed. It really works well at a time when we need their semi-comatose cooperation. But when it's time to cut the TV off, George crumbles to the ground. His hands go to his face and cover his eyes. His face turns so red it makes his hair seem white. He begs no no no as the tears make huge wet drops on the rug. The only way Will and I get through this dramatic exhibition every morning is to laugh. And it is very funny and so easy to not feel a bit of sympathy.
James has been back to some of his old tricks of bad behavior lately. He has improved his manners, but only in form and not intent. If he wants more cereal, for example, this is how he asks in one breath: "May I have more cereal yes you may."
If he is losing his cool and time-out is imminent he screams: "I took a deep breath, Momoe! I took a deep breath!" or alternately: "I'm good! I'm good! Look at my face! Look at my face!" I don't know where he got the idea that a serious sad look on his face equates good behavior, but again very easy to not feel a bit of sympathy.
John has his own ways of driving us all mad--like screaming at the top of his lungs when he's in bed. Will and I come running. What's the matter? "Something's not right." But he can't tell us what, why, or where.
I hear the lid on my crock pot clinking a little. Is it supposed to do that? If I burn the house down my whole plot to be good will be foiled! |
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