Every week is like the life of Sisyphus. It's only Wednesday, yet I've already spent many hours volunteering at my sons' school, working part time in my own marketing consulting business, making homemade Halloween costumes for my sons and me, writing letters to the editor, hosting an Indian cooking class at my house for a school field trip, cooking dinner for my husband's new colleague, swapping out summer shorts for fall sweaters, organizing closets and junk drawers, sorting clothes for donation and consignment, taking my dog to the vet, walking the dog, squeezing in a work out, cooking healthy meals for my family, packing my sons' lunches, filling a grocery bag of food for the local food bank, celebrating a friend's birthday, and oh, trying to stay on top of being a decent wife and mother.
This doesn't even include the inane activities like replacing burned out night light bulbs, cleaning the fridge, buying pants and jackets for the kids, arranging and rearranging baby sitters, scheduling hair cuts, buying Halloween candy, and signing school permission slips.
My days and evenings are filled with lots of intimate time with my laptop, sewing kit, craft scissors, squares of felt, cooking magazines, and dog hair. When I do sleep, I dream about unread books and Twitter and half finished Halloween costumes falling apart at the seams while trick or treating. I know I am trying to do too much. For instance, must those drawers be decluttered now?
I have a hunch that this trait is one that only mothers bear. Super Mom I am not, though Super Mom I will try to be. I know that failure lurks in the halls so why bother doing it all? Why not learn to say no or simply be OK with store bought finds to make life easier? My mom worked when I was young so perhaps I am compensating, rather over compensating, for all the hard core mom stuff I missed out on. I turned out fine, mind you. The fact that I wore store bought Halloween costumes never sent me to therapy. I always had a home cooked meal, a damn good one at that.
My husband is perfectly comfortable on the couch every night watching football while switching to CNN every so often. He asks me if I need help, but I always sigh in the way only a martyr can and say no. What I really mean is, "You cannot possibly make this ninja costumer/prepare a delicious yet nutritious lunch/download photos/fold laundry/pet the dog as well as I can so I might as well do it myself."
I clearly have control issues.
That's why I'm taking a break from me tonight. I am driving myself crazy. Wine with girlfriends is on my agenda and nothing else. Never mind that we'll be gabbing about the school board, our kids' latest antics to drive us insane, or how stressed out we are. At least we'll be commiserating together. With wine.