Guilt rules my life. It dictates every decision I make, every step I take, even everything I put in my mouth. It’s such a major contributing factor in my life that most of the time I’m not even aware it’s there. It’s just part of my genetic makeup now.
Normally I’m pretty good at
being a bitch saying no to my kids. They are not spoiled. They save up their money and buy their own shit, ie. iPods, XBox 360, video games, CDs, Slurpees. I have no problem getting them socks and underwear, but even then, you are wearing the tighty whities and the no-name brand tube socks, I am not paying for Joe Boxer or anything with anything other than Walmart stamped into the elastic band.
I am not the type of mother who does things for my kids so I can keep up with the idiot mothers who have no lives of their own, thus have to live vicarioulsy through and for their children… you know the mothers I’m talking about, I don’t even have to describe them…
Oh I will anyway! You know the mother I’m talking about, the one who brags about the deal she got on her daughter’s $80 shoes. The one who buys her kids the real Ugg boots. The one who plays cards with her kids. Ok. Yes. It’s nice to interact once in awhile, but when your “free” time as a mother, ie. when you aren’t cooking, cleaning, folding, driving, refereeing, curing, working, breathing, is ALWAYS spent playing Go Fish instead of watching Toddlers in Tiaras or flipping through Oxygen magazine, then you shouldn’t be bragging about that. ‘Cause the other mothers, the ones like me, who like doing grown-up stuff like reading, talking on the phone to other grown up, or even having a meaningful conversation with our husbands about stuff other than ear infections and hockey tournament schedules, well, we hate you.
Yet despite this, and quite probably as a result of this, guilt is the contributing factor in many of my decisions. No. It won’t drive me to pull out the Monopoly board. Shoot me first.
On Wednesday, I handed in the last 2 of the nine papers I’ve had to write in the last 7 weeks. You can’t imagine the sense of freedom and release I felt upon
flinging the paper at the prof’s head handing in those papers.
So Thursday, I decided to have a very decadent day. A “Me” day. It was sunny and hot outside. I sat in my deck chair in the afternoon, and reread Twilight.
Ok, now let me put things in perspective.
First of all, sitting in my deck chair actually translates to: perched precariously on the edge while four kids pile themselves on and around me.
Secondly, reread Twilight means that I get through two lines, then have to get up to:
- get freezies… which apparently The Mayor of Crazy Town was supposed to outlaw http://crazytownmayor.com/blog/
- let the dogs in because they are too hot
- let the dogs back out because they want to be with me
- clean out the pool because Terran decides he wants to go in
- poop scoop because Terran wants to play soccer on the grass
- help Terran look for the soccer ball
- argue with the other kids to play soccer with Terran
And if I am not doing one of the above, I am answering their questions:
- what are we having for supper
- are we going anywhere today
- are we going out for supper
- why can’t we do something
- when are we going to go somewhere
- are we going anywhere tomorrow
- why does Zoe get to have more room on the chair
- why does Terran get to sit on you
- why am I rereading Twilight
- do I love Edward
Then later that night, le husband says to me, “You really should get the kids off their Xbox. You’ve had the whole day to yourself.”
Ok. Whole day to myself.
I do verbalize to him that
he is an asshole his comment was inappropriate and uncalled for, to which he replies, “I didn’t mean it that way,” which translates to, “Oh shit! Now she’s gonna flip out and we’re going to have to talk about her emotions!”
But it’s too late. The damage is done. I walk away pissed off, but inside I’m feeling guilty as heck. So Thursday morning, I wake up before the kids so I can clean the floors, scrub the toilets, vaccum, and poop scoop. I do this mostly because I feel guilty that it hadn’t been done the day before when I “had the whole day” to myself.
Then when the kids wake up, I announce that we are going to Pizza Hut with my mom for lunch. Fun, right! Spending time together.
Ok. I’m good right. This makes up for the “whole day” I had to myself the day before, right?
Nope. My mother, who as it turns out does read my blog (surprise surprise) advises me in a reproving tone that in my blog 1. I use foul language too often and 2. it sounds like I don’t like my kids.
Ok. The guilt. Imagine it.
So I go home, invite 80 kids over…ok, not 80. Just 2.
I sit on the deck WITHOUT a book, so I can be accessible to all their wants and desires. Going in the pool! That’s great! Let me get some towels. Going in the house? Oh, ok. Let me follow behind you so I can wipe down the water as you drip all over my clean floors. Going back in the pool? Alright, that sounds like fun. Here, let me untangle the wet bathing suit you threw off and left to soak on your bedroom carpet. Let’s put some sunscreen on you. Oh, you don’t like how this one smells? Let me find the other kind, the kind that smells like coconuts. Freezies? We got ‘em! Popcorn? Coming right up! Thirsty? Here’s some juice boxes? You don’t like grape? Here’s cherry? Don’t like that either…? Here’s some cool refreshing water from the fucken hose kid!
I’m sorry. But after four hours of this. I didn’t feel guilty one bit about tossing overcooked chicken nuggets and
burnt very very crispy french fries at them for supper. Because normally, NORMALLY, I feel too guilty to feed my kids that kind of shit.