Hey guys. It is 6 o clock on a Monday morning coming out of a very event-filled weekend. I have no idea why I am awake this early-especially when all 3 of the littles are still sleeping- but I do have to say it's not that bad. I am sitting with my coffee and laptop in front of an OPEN window that has COOL air coming through. In fact, I realized how long it's been since we've even cracked our windows when I opened our bedroom window last night to let the breeze in and was attacked by a 3 foot vine that was growing on the inside of the screen. Sometime last spring it must've found a little opening on the side of the screen, pushed it's way through, and then happily grew there all summer. I had no idea. A better housewife probably would've known that a plant from the outside of her home was invading the inside of her home, but I've never claimed to be a good housewife. So there you go.
As I was saying, we had a very full weekend. Saturday was a bear of a day that got off to a bumpy start when I learned that I was supposed to bring snacks for J's soccer team. The irony is that I asked Mr. C the night before if we were supposed to bring snacks, and his response was "No. Someone else is assigned."
He's the coach and holds all game, snack, and practice schedules in his coaching bag, so when he said that someone else was bringing snacks, I assumed he was correct.
Well.
As my old boss used to say about the word "assume": it makes an ass out of u and me. Next morning The Spotted Turtles played their little hearts out and had no snack or juice to show for it, because in fact, we were supposed to bring it. It turned out that it really wasn't fully Mr. C's fault- there was a couple of miscommunications, for most of which I carried the blame- but I didn't know all this at the time. I just was thinking how I was the mom, and the moms are supposed to bring the snacks, and how all these little guys were expecting food and hydration and some kind of treat (preferably something with food coloring and corn syrup), and how when it's forgotten, people blame the mom, never the dad. So I was a little irritated. And my irritation showed. It showed a lot. It showed in front of a lot of people who I don't know very well, but with whom I will be spending my Saturday mornings with until approximately Thanksgiving.
Not my finest hour.
So I went through the rest of my Saturday feeling crummy about myself. My short fuse had already been on my mind lately since my church has been advertising an upcoming women's study. This session's title is "Mary, Martha & Motherhood". One of the taglines I saw said something like "How to worry less about being like Martha (Stewart), and more like Mary".
Now, if you know me you know that I never worry that I'm not enough like Martha Stewart. Woman's an OCD nut job as far as I'm concerned. I once watched her on Oprah talking about the proper way to fold a fitted sheet. She had this very intricate and complicated method, and the last step involved an inside-out flip turn maneuver that was more reminiscent of Japanese Origami than anything else. I'm shocked that someone took up airtime on the Oprah Winfrey show to do a tutorial for such a thing. Do you want to hear how I fold a fitted sheet? I cross it over once, twice, sometimes thrice and then I mash it into a ball and toss it onto the top shelf of my linen closet.
No, I am totally okay with not being enough like Martha.
It's the Mary part that gets to me. I have really conflicted feelings about this. Part of me feels like holding up Mother Mary as an image for wives and mothers to aspire to is unjustifiably oppressive. Am I really supposed to be quiet and loving and serene all the time? Do I have to support my husband, even when I disagree with him, and be a model of grace and dignity during difficult times? I'm supposed to keep my emotions in check at all times? When the kids are being argumentative and impossible, I'm not supposed to yell? Am I aiming to be like the crazy mom in that Resolve carpet cleaning commercial who smiles and says "That's okay!" when her kids spill grape juice on the carpet? Really? Because I hate that mom. That mom is dumb and unrealistic, and what's more is my kids see that mom and then think that I'm mean because they know I would never ever EVER be okay with them spilling grape juice on a white carpet.
On the other hand, a guest speaker at our church a couple of weeks ago referred to his wife during the sermon as "Saint Kathy." I thought "That is so sweet! I'd love it if Mr. C thought I was saint-like." Then I remembered all the ways I am not saint like. Like when I'm throwing a party and I go berserk during the planning process and vent my stress all over everybody and everything around me. Or the time I went psycho mom on some kid who bumped his car bass real loud in front of our house after I had just gotten a newborn Roo down for her nap. Or when I almost got into a fist fight with some teenagers who were partying loudly at 2 in the morning in the campsite next to us. Or when I screamed until my throat was sore (literally) at Mr. C when I was pregnant with J for smoking a cigar in the backyard. Or when-
You know what? I could go on forever. The list is long and is full of shame, shame, shame. The thing is, this is me. I was born this way. I have big emotions, and I tend to wear them on my sleeve. I can't help it. Even if I could, I think sometimes I wouldn't. The lessons I think I'm supposed to be learning are in all my most unsaint like moments. I keep trying to convince Mr. C that it's all part of my charm. (He's not buying that yet, but I really think he should because it's true.)
In the end, I'll probably end up signing up for the women's study. I'm finding that most of the Bible's commandments work pretty well for me: don't kill, love each other, be kind, tell the truth- these are all good guidelines. Maybe I do have something to learn about modeling myself after the Virgin Mother (I can't even type that without laughing. Me aspiring to be more like The Virgin Mother is a bit like Charlie Sheen saying he's going to aspire to be win the Nobel Peace Prize- it's a lofty goal). However, I guess it can't hurt since right now I'm 0 for 0: Martha wouldn't have forgotten the snacks and Mary wouldn't have shot Joseph scathing looks and eye rolls for the world to see.
As long as I don't end up like a Resolve Carpet Cleaning Mommy Drone, then I'm happy. Wish me luck!
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