Insane Like a Fox!
I think the word "mad" is a good one. It originally and actually means insane, but is very apt, I believe, for the things that simply drive us crazy.
Alot of things make me mad, rich assholes nearly running me and my double stroller filled with children over with their Jaguars and not even looking back, even after having to dive over onto the soft shoulder of the road... that's the most recent. Ever seen a middle aged mom flip off a speeding car right in front of her impressionable toddlers? Not a pretty sight.
Or how about my 3 year old, Tyler, grabbing his baby sister in a rear-naked chokehold. Thank you Hubby and UFC for that one. That is the most frequent thing that makes me mad.
Having to tell the members of my household things more than once or twice. That's a doozy.
But you know what makes me really, deeply, crazy mad?
I know I shouldn't be a smoker, but here I sit with a cigarette in my hand, trying to type without blinding myself.
I know my house should be cleaner, but I take one look at it whilst my children hang off my pant legs, and just sigh.
I know I should be kinder and more patient with my children and my spouse, but come 5:00pm (the magic hour) and I'm screaming my head off once again.
I know I should be going to school, looking in to that counseling thing, getting my kids to eat more veggies, calling my grandmother, and any number of other things.
I look at my mother (now that may be problem #1) and she is absolutely perfect. Her house is always spotless, she looks like a J. Crew magazine model, she never does or says anything that is less than perfect. A 2010s version of June Cleaver. She's even the president of the PTG. Drives a brand new car with voice command GPS that she traded her Escalade in for.
But you know, and I can say this because very few (only one) of my readers KNOW my mother.
The woman is absolutely miserable. She has everything, and I'm talking EVERYTHING. A perfect 35 year marriage, a beautiful house, respect (and not a little envy) from everyone she has ever met, and perfect non-chipped nails. But my mother is not a very happy person. Totally without delving into my mother's psychology, which is not what this blog is about.
But, you know what? I am. I'm a happy person. Not that you would know by reading my blog, but this is how I vent. I'm often overwhelmed, underprivilaged, angry and outspoken. But my bad moods are like thunderstorms, I get them out and they go away.
And I will never be my mother. I've tried, but to no avail. It just depresses me anyhow. My corners will never be clean, my nails will never not be chipped, my life will never be flawless. But as long as I be the best ME (and not my mother) that I can be... I'm going to be happy.
And I'll work on the stuff I feel I am lacking.
If I'm mad about the school thing, wasted potential and all that jazz, I'll get off my laurels and go.... damnit go!
I'll do the dishes, and if the counters don't get wiped down before I have to run out and get the baby down off the table... fine! I'll get back to the kitchen later.
If it bothers me so much that I'm not the wife and mother I should be, I'll work on it. And when I falter at that, I'll try to be as forgiving to myself as they all are to me.
The only one stopping me from doing what I should is me. And that's what makes me mad, because I know better.
But I think I'll have just one more cigarette after I'm done here. And then another fun-size 100 Grand bar. But then I'm done! Done I tell you!
*Sigh* signing off,
My Own Worst Enemy
Another writing prompt from http:www.mamakatslosinit.com