Sometimes I feel like I am the lady in the 1970's Calgon commercial. The baaby! The doooorbell! Camera cuts in to the anguish and despair on her face and then, just in the nick of time--ahhh-- the soothing voice of let it all goooooo... surrender. Calgon take me away!!.....Yeah. Whatever. Give me a big honkin glass of red wine and a mound of dark chocolate and leave me the hell alone. That's what takes me away. That and locking myself in the bathroom with the fan on yelling into the wooden door "I caaan't heaar you because of the fa--an!! Sorry! Oh so sorry!! I'll be out soooon. About an ho-ur!" (please note I am sing--ing all this so it doesn't sound negative!) Snow white. You betcha.
You HAVE to laugh at the absurdity of it all. That or you would be rocking in a corner with your thumb planted firmly in your mouth. I laugh so much with and at my children and their all consuming hilarity, focus and wild raucous love they throw at me, sometimes I cry. The crazy cry, or what Oprah calls the "ugly cry."
All. The. Time.
My emotions are so much on my sleeve I might as well start a clothing line.
Remember when you were a teenager and everything was so incredibly intense and magnified and real and tingly? On a good day you could practically touch the sun and on a bad day you were one move from the fetal position. But that was so you oriented. Cue the kiddo's and suddenly they are on your sleeve, your heart, your mind, your entire being. How could they not be...they are everything that is wonderful, fragile and sacred in our world. They drive you mad, rob your sleep, scream and roll on the floor flopping and crying like fish out of water over the wrong kind of toothpaste. Sag your boobs in your mid thirties until you cry.
They are without a doubt the greatest anything you will ever do.
Saggy boobies and all.
On those days where I can find a thought, follow a conversation, put my mascara on without smudging it down my cheek looking like I was just beaten by my pimp, I laugh. I have this friend who is so innately wonderful. I can call her and just start laughing into the phone and the next thing I know she is laughing too. Her crazy manic laugh matches mine and we don't even have to speak. She knows. She gets it. Our kids don't. They just think we are bonkers and that's OK. I want my kids to think I'm wacky. It will give them more to talk about in therapy and give me the air of being really dramatic and cool. Maybe even playground talk fodder..."did you hear what she said to her kids the other day??!"
When I was first a Mommy I was all about getting it right. Exactly, completely, achingly perfect right. Now that my oldest is a teenager and I see what a disservice I've done, I'm going for a different angle. Better to be Bette Midler than Julie Andrews. At the end of my life I think I would much rather be remembered for my raucous laughter and fierce love for them than a Jackie O. package all neatly tied in a bow. It's time for us all to loosen the bow. Just a little.
Give our kids something to talk about :-)