Thank God
(Forgive the sap, I'm tired)
Christmas still always comes...
... even with the ornaments being finished the day before
... even with the baby waking up from his nap way too soon
... even with the toddler too excited to make it to the bathroom on time 5 times in a day
... even with Christmas Eve dinner not being ready until after mass
... even with the church being too full twenty minutes before mass starts
... even with Christmas Eve mass in a badly lit school gym
... even with both kids exhausted before mass even starts
... even with Silent Night being atrociously sung and accompanied on the guitar (ole!)
... even with only half my Christmas baking plans fulfilled
... even with the kids and the parents being too tired to sing any Christmas carols (Thank God for CDs)
... even with the kids never looking into the camera
... even with the parents always a step behind in learning to lower their expectations
... even with the dog a little too nervous
... even with the goose a little too dry
... even with all the family far away
... even with my heart torn between two continents
... even with God born in a dirty barn.
I know I'm not fooling anyone
I should be making dinner right now, even though it's only 2 p.m. but I have errands for the afternoon. If I stuck to my duties though, this post would not be written - as all the other posts since mid-November. Days go by so fast but things do not seem to move. It's still the same work, starting from scratch every day, trying to keep up the basic fundamentals: sleeping, making food, making children eat food, keeping children clean, keeping house seem like clean, keeping head above water while waiting for... I don't know, a little more freedom maybe.
I am about 15 lbs away from pre-pregnancy (the one with Veronika) size and while I'm not depressed about it (not yet, anyway) I get annoyed from time to time that like so many other things, looking good or at least satisfactory, is still so many months away (probably years, but I need some illusion in my life). I refuse to buy a regular wardrobe for this size, so I am living in pants #1 and pants #2, three to five cotton t-shirts, two button-down shirts and a sweater. No, wait, TWO sweaters. And then there's the one skirt for church and work.
What is frustrating about this is that it is enough. I really don't need more clothes, because I have no place to wear them. What not to wear would kill me, but honestly, there is something sadder than wearing jeans and t-shirts day after day: wearing something nice and getting it ruined. It's a running joke how moms look frumpy and boring, and you could've caught me laughing at it three and a half years ago when I was clueless and spoke in whole sentences. I realize now... mothers wear uniforms. You don't laugh at the construction worker in his baggy pants and the unflattering reflective jacket. You don't suggest the chef wear a tuxedo when he's cooking. Yet, the mothers are so ridiculous with their schlumpy attire when all they have to do is stand beside their kids and look cute all day. Right? What DO we do all day?
So it might be that I have lost myself somewhat while tending to my children's needs, but I have also made a decision not to bother with looking cute while at work, because it is not practical and doesn't help me with the attitude. They say kids do better in school sometimes when they wear uniforms because it helps them get into working mode. Wearing simple stuff that can get dirty helps me feel ready to tackle things and not worry about what is going to happen to my outfit. And besides, an outfit would only remind me how I am wearing me-time-clothes to a series of events (like, preschool-dropoff, Ivan's babyfood extravaganza or Veronika's playdoh fiesta) that scream "totally baby time!" and that is bad for attitude, bad bad.
So I wear the one pair of jeans.
Then some combination of a H&M t-shirt I have in various colors. And finally my red shoes...
...which are a sure-fire strategy to distract people from the disaster that is my hair.
Still, I do draw the line at mom jeans. I will not wear high waisted pants. Never, never. I also do not wear sweats. They don't suit me, in fact they don't suit most people. I would rather wear curlers to the supermarket then display my thighs in velour.
Some people call the lack of fashionable variety in mothers a sign of neglect. It might be, if you look at child rearing as a bad hobby. I've just adjusted my life to the current demands. Five minutes on the couch beat five minutes in front of the mirror any day.
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