Ok, so I am writing my 300th blog post right now, and while yay for me for sticking to it that long, I am realizing that as I look back through the 299 prior to this... I haven't really gotten anywhere. I liken my life to treading water or being stuck in the snow (metaphors are apparently seasonal in my world) because there seems to be a lot of effort taking place, but I am not really getting anywhere.
Maybe it is the horrendous cold that my entire family (Tabbi excluded... apparently she has a super human immune system) is suffering from, or maybe it is the chick-lit that I just read focusing on marriage/stay home mom issues.... but I am feeling a little down. And by a little down, I mean worms are higher than I am.
I am pondering things in my life right now and I guess questioning what I am doing. Am I really supposed to be fulfilled by this life that I have chosen? Don't get me wrong all you anonymous commenters who love to spring up and tell me that I am a horrible mother and should either off myself or sell my children on Ebay, I actually do love my children. Really, I love them more than life itself. I found myself praying to God that he give me Jack's cold on top of mine just to save him the pain and discomfort that he felt for days. But, loving them an indescribable amount is not tantamount to feeling self satisfied at the end of the day. I was telling my friend Laura the Famous the other day that I measured my success as a human being on Monday by the fact that I made a pretty good meatloaf for dinner. That being said, Tuesday I was a failure because I made Mark bring in Chinese. And really? That is what I bring to my world? DINNER PLANS!?!?!?!
Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique in 1963, and it was devoted to the same questions that I am pondering now. "Each suburban wife struggled with it alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, lay beside her husband at night -- she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question -- 'Is this all?'" The problem, dear Betty, is that you didn't include an instruction manual on figuring it out and then fixing the problem. Write that, my dear girl (who is deceased and therefore probably not going to answer my call), and you'll have a best seller.
And so I sit here in 2011 after a Saturday dinner of Steak and Shake, because I am too under the weather to cook, and the boys are fighting over who gets to fix the hook the cleaning toys hang on in the playroom, and the dog is whining at me to be fed, and the drum set no one is playing with is drumming away at top volume, and Mark is sitting on the floor completely tuning out Koda the dinosaur as it roars at no one in particular.... and I am wondering right along with the housewives of 1963... is this all? I love my husband (most of the time), I love the kids (all of the time), but I am finding that I don't love myself very much at all these days. And maybe that is the biggest short coming I have as a wife and a mother right now... even worse than dinner from Steak and Shake.