I strive to keep my blog a "complain free" zone. I really do. I want this place to be encouraging and a place to focus on how wonderful I believe life can be. And when I am feeling discontent or blue, I usually disappear for awhile because I feel that if I don't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. I try, people, I really do. If you sense a "but" coming on, you would be correct. Or in this case, a great big...
HOWEVER...
First things first. We are experiencing a wintery mix in Shreveport, Louisiana today. I made the grave mistake of not jumping on the bandwagon and heading out to the grocery store yesterday for bread, milk and flashlight batteries. Apparently, I was the last person in town who didn't purchase my eggs yesterday and they saved this last carton just for me, at Target. Thank the Lord. I don't how I could have survive without these eggs during the frigid hours ahead.
So now the stage is set. I braved the wet, sleety, snowy, windy weather for my family because as usual, there's NOTHING to eat in this house. My teenagers remind me of this frequently. Even after I've spent a small fortune at the store, apparently, there's still NOTHING to eat.
Translation: We don't have any cookies, chips, ice cream, frozen pizzas, cereal, chocolate, pizza pockets, carbonated beverages, Little Debbies or the makings of s'mores.
While I'm at the grocery store, I received numerous texts and calls from the "teenagers" requesting the items listed above. Also a call from daughter number 2 requesting that I stop off at the bookstore where she's studying and leave her my debit card so she can fill up her car with gas. Because she's waited until she's on empty. And now her lack of planning constitutes an emergency on my part. Because she's SIXTEEN. And oh my God, Mom, why are you being so unreasonable? I load the groceries into the car, in the cold rain, cursing under my breath the whole time.
By the time I get home, I'm irritated and my husband, who's powers of perception are usually lacking, asks me what's wrong. I unload a month's worth of frustration. In a nutshell, I feel disrespected, overworked, ignored, unappreciated and virtually invisible. I feel like a live-in maid. I feel like a burnt-out Mom and wife. I feel like I want to get in my car and drive miles away for a week, no, a month and take care of no one but myself. I tell him that I would just like a little help around here. I say that it would be nice if he, or the girls would maybe empty the dishwasher sometimes or pick up their clothes or fold some laundry. It's the little things, I tell him, that would make a big difference for me. I'm tired of doing it all, I say. To which he replies,
"Stop doing it," he says.
"Stop doing what?"
"All that you do. Maybe then the girls, and even me, will appreciate you more."
Seriously? What was wrong with my solution? It seems to me, and correct me if you see a flaw in my reasoning, that his solution is the easy, lazy way out. Because he knows that I'm not able to "stop doing it". We would wallow in filth and hunger. And because I care about our home. I basically feel like he's saying that it's my problem. And NO ONE can help me. It's beyond their reach.
Anyone? Advice? Especially from the three or four men who read this blog?
I will wear my imitation converse sneakers and mismatched colorful scarfs. I will take endless photos of everything I see. I will drive through the great state of Arkansas, alone.
I will bask in the complete and utter beauty of doing whatever I want, whenever I want to. As long as Diahn wants to do whatever I want, whenever I want to. And she will. Because we're like Ike and Mike.
