My girlish figure of yesteryear
(Whom I usu’lly ignore)
Said, most plaintively, “Tell me, dear,
What is it we stand for?”
“I speak, you see, of floors and scales,
Left groaning down below.
I speak of knees and lig’ment wails
When standing on our soles.”
Surprised, I peered ’round var’yous parts,
To ‘xamine scale and toes.
I saw her point; I gave a start
At what was ‘bscured down low.
A fur’yous resolution formed
To remedy my view.
My goal: a skinn’yer me, as norm,
And calories, refuse.
And so began a tort’ous life
Of counting veggie crumbs;
Of ‘no more fats and sugars’ strife,
Of cravings overcome.
My figure cheered and reappeared
As did my scale and feet.
My shaking, shiv’ring me, I fear
Was not as much upbeat.
“I wish,” I croak, “To have them both:
Sweet eats and view of ground.
Not starve myself to cut back growth –
And only lose five pounds!”
After a few false starts and intentional ignorings of my alarm, I rose before the children needed to with the intent to get a head start on the day.
The idea sounded great last night -you know, during that time I looked over the laundry, paper bills and tax forms, dishes, laundry, to-do list, messy tables, dishes, incomplete homework, laundry, cluttered floors, dirty toilets, almost-sleeping children, and more laundry and dishes- and told myself that I could go to sleep and address it all tomorrow.
I neglected to recall how tired I am when I first rise.
So, yawning, here I sit, cursing my mental state, for not recalling that I’d need a day to fully wake. I can see why people drink coffee. I think. I’m actually not experiencing much clarity of thought yet.
True, I shouldn’t need much ‘clarity of thought’ to just do dishes or sort laundry. The problem with that is that I’ve pretty much run out of tricks. I’ve tried bribes, calm reasoning, yelling, and reverse psychology; but I just can’t convince myself to do the housework.
No matter what, I know two things: there will never be an end, and there will be more after that.
So, yawning, here I -oh, I already said that. Sorry; tired mom brain.
What’s a dead-brained mother to do? The toilets? Maybe after breakfast, I suppose. If nothing else gets done during this Magic Quiet Hour, I at least got some writing in.
And (don’t tell) some chocolate.
I’m thinking, all right?!
-Seriously, though. This is a toughie. I’m a woman yet am often scratching my head to formulate a reasonable explanation for female actions -and that’s just for my own.
I think the problem is that there is no one-size-fits-all explanation glove to what the heck a woman just did or thought or said. Well, you know, besides HORMONES.
What we really need here is perspective. And, to make our findings appear more logical, I will provide them in list format.
This is The Biggie. I’ve never been a guy, so maybe menfolk have similar issues. Being a woman, though, I feel like the passenger of a crazed roller coaster pilot who has just decided to test whether the cars can function off the track …and, say, down a few waterfalls.
One day I am content (not happy, mind you, because laundry). Within an hour, I can be reduced to eating ice cream from the container and crying over baby videos on the internet all because some stranger with an obscure username wrote about the precious gift of motherhood.
Again, not to dismiss any guys with chronic illnesses or whatnot but this issue comes up A LOT around our house.
Monthly, I am referring to good old Aunt Flo. My husband even had the gall to ask me why I whine when it happens every month. Shouldn’t I be used to it by now?
Nope. The excruciating pain and bleeding hurts like hell every time.
On top of that, I’ve had recurring hemorrhoid sensitivities since Pregnancy #1, sensitive teeth since forever, and am usually experiencing bruises anywhere on my body that the kids can access.
Are you happy when you stay up late to finish a project (socks -yay!) and then you somehow woke to find you were stabbed in your abdomen (but, you should be used to the pain by now) but first were wakened every two to three hours for important client requests (glass of water and nightmare reassurances)?
Even before I was a mother, I often slept poorly just because of worrying about the next days’ tasks.
…Which leads to
Maybe your woman is the fun person in your relationship. If you have kids, though, odds are she’s the one worrying about whether little Tommy is wiping his nose on the other kids or if Anisha just fell down a rabbit hole.
I seem to be the only one who sits up in shock at the early-morning sounds of the garbageman, to know where the extra toilet paper is stored, and to realize that empty boxes of cereal cannot walk to the recycling bin on their own.
I think I’m screwy when my whole day feels ruined over a bad haircut, but it does. Give me a fresh, flattering outfit and a great hair and makeup day, and I’m all smiles.
Just imagine how I’d feel with a new outfit every day!
Now that we’ve got our highly-logical list, what can we do with our knowledge? Hug more? Sympathize a heck of a lot more? Allow that shopping trip, but ensure there’s a credit limit?
At the very least, I’d suggest chocolate, but that’s probably the hormones talking.