To Do or Not To Do

She loves to be alone. Perhaps this is more pronounced since she became a mother, which if you are one you understand that after this life-changing event, solitude is never quite achieved again. Children tend to occupy your thoughts in their absence. Especially if you are convinced that you are The Worst Mother in the World. But that is a different post entirely.

Household chores also tend to creep around the edges and like termites bite into her aloneness. It's not the actual doing of them that invades her empty spaces, it's the sitting around and looking at what needs to be done. She resists housework the way some women resist exercise. Ok she resists exercise too, but the point is, when her family can't eat, wear clean clothes, or walk across the living room without twisting an ankle, you'd think she'd get at least a little motivated to do something...anything.

She wants you to know that it isn't that bad. She is just not as motivated as she could be today. In fact she just got home with some groceries. If only there were someone around that would put them away for her.

Staring at groceries on the kitchen counter. Today, at least, this is how she doesn't do it.

Where Was I Going Again?

She would love to runaway sometimes. She would runaway to either Kripalu, an expensive yoga retreat, or a commune, depending on what she could afford. The thing about a commune is, she would miss you. She imagines there would be no internet or cell phone service. She also imagines herself harvesting turnips from dawn to dusk and then collapsing into her bunk with hands too calloused to type. Or even pull the thin, scratchy blanket up over her shoulders.

But here's the weird thing. One time she spent five days at Kripalu, and all she did was cry. Fortunately she has ADD so things like shampoo ingredients and the glitter in the ceiling distracted her from crying non-stop. But really, what the heck? Was she overcome with joy or grief? Kripalu seemed like the perfect place to figure it out, but she never did. They have awesome salad bars by the way.

So what is so troubling that she wants to one away? She once met one super nice women with four kids who remarked that she wouldn't be able to be away from her kids for more than one day. This made her feel very guilty. Why does she want to be away from her kids and husband for five, fifteen if she could get away with it, days?

Well for one thing even though she loves talking to people (especially you) at the store, gas station, etc, she really is a loner at heart. She longs for silence and space. And if your house is anything like hers, it has neither. It seems that her kids are either bored, demanding food, or wanting her to fix something on their computers. Yes they each have their own computers. Shameful I know, but it buys her enough time to fold the laundry and stuff. And besides, taking away computer time is an excellent punishment when they do something naughty.

The important thing is that it's ok to have these thoughts. She loves her family more than she can say. She will keep them safe and well-cared for. And her ADD won't let her get far anyway. She's be distracted by the first grocery store and return home and hour later smiling and saying "Guess what? I FINALLY remembered to get aluminum foil!"

Keeping her family safe with aluminum foil, that is how she does it.

Nothing Personal but She Really Likes You

If she runs into you, a perfect stranger, in a coffee shop or a boutique, she really wants to meet you. Because she really likes you. Why? Because You. Are. Awesome. Unless of course you are concealing a weapon, in which case, keep walking. McDonald's is just down the street. Full of children.

But back to you. Do you not know how awesome you are? Just look at you! Chances are high she's coveting your shoes, belt, bag, or shirt. She loves that stuff. Plus you are a whole uncharted galaxy to her. Where do you come from? What do you do? And by the way you're children, if you happen to be with them, are adorable. Don't worry about what the youngest one just did. Been there so many times.

She doesn't care if you're not really wealthy. In fact, she has always found wealthy people to be skittish and sometimes even rude. As if she wants something from them. As if! No, she doesn't want anything from anybody. Money is just a facade when it gets out of the house. It's the clothes, the hair, the bod, the make up, the car. And all that is fine and dandy. But it isn't you, or them, or anybody. She wants to talk to you, not your shoes, although they are really very cute. Seriously though, don't you agree? Money is really good at heating the house, buying the food, clothing the children, and all sorts of other useful things. But once it gets out of the house, well, it tends to get a little showy.

Speaking of getting out of the house, she is just happy about doing just that, which is why she has that sappy smile on her face. And she's been around children all day, so please, PLEASE, talk to her.

Pathetic ramblings about pathetic ramblings she wants to have with you, that is how she does it.

Dinner

So in order to put dinner on the table and to make sure her husband has all the things he loves for breakfast, she sometimes has to go to the grocery store twice a day. Not every day, mind you, just on the days she has decided that the groceries need replenishing. Oh, and about dinner? She only has about four recipes, all of which require frozen food. So you'd think keeping the freezer stocked would be quite easy. Well, for her...not so much. The thing is, she doesn't think about feeding her family much. It's just not in her jukebox of greatest hits. This might be why her husband stopped expecting dinner some time ago. Her children have to start howling before the thought of an evening meal materializes. Awful, isn't it?

Ok you're right, it's more deplorable than awful. And she can't even blame her mother for this one. She grew up in a loving home where a home cooked meals hit the dinner table by 7:00 every night. Take out or delivered foods? Frozen foods? Never. She was in high school before she tasted her first pizza. No lie. So why the extreme divergence from her wholesome childhood?

If she had to guess, she'd say it's because she's more of a 'hands on Mom.' She plays computer games with her kids. She watches TV with them. Although, now that they are nearing their teens, they are starting to spend too much time on the computers by themselves. Hmmmm, this is starting to make her look really bad.

Apparently, this is how she does it: badly.

Who is She?

So you might have noticed that the first blog was written in July, whereas the subject matter clearly took place during the school year. So she isn't exactly timely. Something else you should know: the event described in the content may or may not have actually happened. She is, after all, a writer of fiction. She, in fact may or may not be a fictional character. She may bear some resemblance to the actually writer, the person who is in fact typing these words, but she may not. She may even bear some resemblance to you, dear reader. If she does, take heart in the fact that you are not alone. If she is completely foreign to you in every way, well, congratulations. You must live a well scheduled, neat as a pin, healthy and happy life with no catastrophes of your own making. She, on the other hand, lives from one screw up to the next. And she admires you.

You will also learn, as days and posts go by, that she doesn't write every day. So consistency, actual fact, and a main character that may or may not exist...that's not how she does it.

Late for School Library Duty

She, as infuriatingly usual, thought she could bend time to her will. And, surprise! She is late. She is also in need of a shower, wearing wrinkled clothes, and badly in need of makeup. Lots of makeup.

So this is how she does it: she wets her hairbrush and brushes her hair, then blows it dry to give it some sort of shape. Not successfully, but the lumpy mashed potato look will have to do. As luck would have it, good or bad luck to be determined later, she is already wearing her favorite shirt. It is, as mentioned earlier, wrinkled, but also endowed with her personal aroma. Let's call it Old Onion.

She strips it off and chucks it into the dryer with a moist washcloth and a dryer sheet for ten minutes. While those items are flopping around, she applies mascara and foundation. The foundation, because she has used way too much in her haste, leaves her looking sickly. To counteract appearance of being at death's door she smears on blush with the skill of a mortician. Brown eyeshadow sort of balances the severity of her face, but not really.

Okay, shoes. Shoes, shoes shoes. Where the @#$%! are her shoes? Here's one. At all costs she must wear something that covers her chipped toenails. The time is getting dangerously close to no show status, so she opts for low heals that look ridiculous with her jeans and, whipping it out of the dryer, her slightly damp and still wrinkled shirt. At least she smells "Mountain Fresh" now.

Clacking to the car in her heels, keys in hand, purse open and close to disgorging her cell phone and wallet, she stumbles into the front seat and screeches out of her driveway.

Most mothers in her neighborhood walk to school when they volunteer. Saunter, really. Wearing designer sunglasses, with their perfectly organized purses slung over their shoulder. They wave their manicured hands at other mothers who drive by with a trunk load of fresh vegetables (no frozen meals for their kids!).

At least that's how she pictures it in her mind as she parks with the skills of a ninja in an illegal spot. Her friends and neighbors could be just as harried as she is. Perhaps they just hide it better. Perhaps not. Two things are clear, however. One is that she needs these women to be perfect so that she has something to strive for. She doesn't resent these women, she admires them. How do they do it? She wonders.

And that, dear reader, is how this blog got started. And it is also the second thing that she finds clear: She may never know how these seemingly perfect mothers do it, but she knows they do not ignore the clock in order to finish reading the last chapter of a mystery novel.

No, that, almost consistently and with very little remorse, is how She Does It.