Remember how I told you that I am the laziest person who ever walked the face of the earth in my mother's eyes? Forget about trust fund babies, or royalty, or children who couldn't hit a hamper with a pair of dirty undies if their lives depended on it. No, in case you ever wondered, I am the laziest person, ever. I have made peace with this, mostly. It is still irritating, and insulting, but I know it comes from love, and my mom is a great lady who I adore, and I'm living in her house, so I'm willing to let it slide.
As I am writing this, it is Sunday night. SUNDAY. Day of rest. Tomorrow, I will go back to a three hour variety show rehearsal, a meeting with my contractor, answering work emails, walking the dog, shuttling the child to and fro, and probably collapsing into bed at 8:30. I started today by reading in bed, my second favorite morning activity. Then, I had to work for a few hours. SUNDAY. Then I got a big bag of the good rolls from the place in the city, after having a delicious lunch with my husband and daughter, and we came home. I read in the backyard, and, when it got too hot, I took a nap on my bed inside.
WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, the decision was made that we would make hamburgers, and that Rob (or Poor Rob, I should call him) would go to the store and get all the stuff. I eschewed cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in favor of continuing to read* and when I went into the kitchen to help, it was too crowded in there, so I went to the family room and flipped through a magazine. We were called to dinner. My mother made it very clear to me, without needing many words at all, that I had been lounging around long enough, and I would clean up after. That's completely fine, I don't mind, but insulting because I can feel her judgment wash over me, and I know immediately the stock she's taken in my day: I neglected to walk my dog. I went to lunch again, I read for a long time and took a nap. But most of all, my husband went to the grocery store and formed patties. Fuck me, I thought it was SUNDAY.
The magic of this, is that no one can see and feel what I see and feel when it comes to my mom. If I mentioned this to my husband, he might think I was crazy, and say, "so what?" and he would be correct on both counts. Luckily, my dad plied me with red wine.
I keep telling myself over and over: It doesn't matter. You'll never, ever win. In the game of housewife, you are, and forever will be, the ultimate loser. Relax. Take a deep breath. It comes from love. It comes from love. It comes from fucking love!!!"
Serenity now...
1 comment:
I read Rob Lowe's book and thought it was okay. I'm not a big fan of his but I like bios.
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