A woman's work....

The other day I was having a disagreement with someone - a female someone, oddly enough - and she said to me, "Well what's the problem with changing your schedule? You're home all day anyway. It's not like you have a job to go to...."

Obviously, that's stupid in so many ways, and I told her right then and there that I knew she didn't really mean it (translation: You'd better not really mean that, or else there will be a bloodbath - right here, right now). But the exchange got me thinking about the job of motherhood, for me at least, and here's what I thought:

- No matter how much I do (and I do a lot), it will never be sufficient. There will always be part of me that wonders if there's something more or better I could have done. Other people (or magazines or TV shows or books or therapists) are always telling us there's something more or better we should do and, like anyone doing a job she takes seriously, I try to learn ways to do it better. So there's good and bad to it, but at the end of the day I never sit down, having put that last kid to bed, and think, 'Damn I did a great job today! I really am the shit!" That's just not how this job goes, ever.

- The things we do manage to do successfully are the least apparent things. By which I mean, if you have a tidy house, a good kid or kids, and a decent marriage that is seen as "normal." That's the baseline everyone measures by. The fact that my kids have clean underwear every day isn't going to get me any awards. Most of the time, really, it's only when things go wrong - kids acting out, garbage dump on the front lawn, etc - that what we've done or not done gets noticed.

The thing is, I know I'm a really good mom, and I sincerely love being one. It's the greatest happiness of my life. But it's also just a really weird job (and that's not even going into the no pay part!). Not a deep realization, I know, but hey, I've got four kids, I don't have time for deep.

I made it

The husband came home last night. This morning I slept late and woke to a tidied-up kitchen. Now he's taken two of the four girls and the dog out on a walk. Ahhh.

My dream kitchen (but apparently not everyone's)

Six months ago a 25 year old plumber put a snake down our 95 year old pipes (as I hovered nearby saying, "I'm not sure you should do that...."). Not too long afterwards I hear him calling, "Lady! There's water coming out of your kitchen ceiling fan!" And so great are my powers of perception, that I knew immediately that all was not as it should be. And once 1/4 of the kitchen ceiling was on the floor we decided it was time to remodel.

Today Barry and Tony, our contractor's A-team, came and put in the counter top and finished off the cabinets, etc. And I'm totally entranced. On just that one wall it looks like someone else's kitchen, some real, grown up type of person. (The rest of the kitchen looks shabby and like it belongs to me.) Anyway, after they left I got out our floor tiles to figure out what fabulously creative design I'm going to make out of them and spread them out over the floor. At which point my eight-year old daughter walks in and says, "Excuse me Mommy. I don't want to offend you, but I don't like this floor." Oh well.

It can only be uphill from here?

Only 24 hours into the husband's two week absence and I've already:
-Let the twins have it with both (verbal) barrels for being snotty and unhelpful
-Wept openly in front of all four kids
-Not done housework that other women would consider basic to health and happiness
-Spent $40.00 on lunch (OK, it was for me and all four kids, but remember, this is Pittsburgh not SoHo. $40 on lunch here is a major wing ding).

The husband called and said he had a three hour stroll around Chapel Hill and ate dinner at a charming artsy Co-op hot bar. i'd be pissed, except I know my boy and he's already getting homesick.

Better get to bed. it's going to be a long one tomorrow.

Know Fear (I do)

As I was looking for images of fear to illustrate this entry, I saw a picture of some heavily tatooed all-boy metal band called "Beyond Fear." And I thought to myself, 'Of course they're not afraid; there is no childcare involved in their thrash-all-night, sleep-all-day, lives. There are no infinitely precious, infinitely irritating little beings needing them every minute of every day. If they play badly one night it's not like the audience is going to need 20 years of therapy or anything. Please note that the picture I did choose has a child coming toward you and she's clearly about to ask you to get your fat ass off the sofa (which you just this minute sat down on) and do something for her (Mommy, I need lunch. Mom, I need to go to the mall. Mom, the dog just threw up on the clean laundry.).

So the reason for all these musings is that my husband is out of town FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS (!!!) and I'm here not exactly keeping the home fires burning - more like keeping the home fires from burning the house down. Have a feeling it's going to be one of those periods where, if you get to the end of the day and everybody's still alive you feel like you've succeeded. Wish me luck. Send me cheering messages. Make my husband come back.

Summer is here and a mother's thoughts turn to...school.

My fan has spoken! It's back to the blog for me. Summer has begun and the kids are all home. Every year we all have a hard time adjusting to the slow, unscheduled tempo of the days. Right now the kids are bored and I'm still trying to get stuff done.... By the time I stop trying to be productive and they all relax into Summer it will be time to go back to school.

School. We're facing some difficulties with schooling next year. We're placing Charlotte in a private school exclusively for autistic kids next fall and requesting that the school district cover the $50,000 (!!!!!!) tuition. They do have an autistic support class which is "taught" by a teacher with no training in autism and no curriculum. They most likely scenario is that the school district will reccommend that she be placed in their class (because it's so awful there are almost no students in it and it won't cost them a cent). If/when that happens, we pay the more-than-Harvard tuition, eat rice and beans all year, and sue their asses. Fun. I've never sued anyone, not even the idiot doctor who misdiagnosed my acute appendicitis as a UTI which caused the appendix to burst and rendered me infertile for years. Not even him. So I'm not looking forward to this, but you do what you have to for your kid, right?

And more school. My fey little Eliza - whose head is full of big dreams and whose mouth is full of big vocabulary (and has, like her dad, a charming little geek thing going on) - was bullied this year. It started as taunting, which we tried to use as a "learning opportunity" (don't you hate those?), but then moved on to physical bullying - the boy who had been harrassing her purposely stepped on her hand when she reached down to pick up a crayon. So we have to sort out what to do about her school situation as well. We believe, philosophically, socially, and financially, in public education. But there's our baby being her adorably clueless self which certain kids are clearly taking as a big "apply harrassment here" sign. So do we put her in private school too? Or do we ask her to tough it out? Honestly, I don't know.

If any of you have opinions on this, I'd love to hear them.

I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I finished the first draft of my first-ever novel!!!!! It's 275 pages - and how much of that is good and how much will have to be rewritten or completely tossed, I don't know. The husband likes it, but then, he kind of has to, doesn't he? Not that he's faking. He's just never very critical of my work. But I finished it, I finished it, I finished it! Yipeee!!!