In Which Kim Complains About Things

I have ANOTHER bacterial throat infection. This time I am boycotting antibiotics because I know that the more I take them, the less they will work for me and that avian flu virus is coming, y'all. It's on its way. Not that antibiotics would work for that anyway, since it's a virus. But still. It's just that whole antibacterial, antibiotic, antiseptic antagonism that I harbor. I think it may be getting just an eensy bit worse, along with my commitment to cleaning the sink with baking soda every other day. Yeah. And then today after my discussion with the doctor about All Things Unrelated to My Bacterial Throat Infection (which included, but is not limited to, Johns Hopkins University's program for “gifted” kids, corpus linguistics, the novel Tom Jones by Henry Fielding, and how it’s important for kids to build up their immunity by being around other kids so that they don’t miss too much of their elementary school experience), I got lost trying to leave the building. Just follow the damn EXIT signs, stupid.

Anyway …

The Goose took a long afternoon nap today and instead of resting like any normal Person with a Bacterial Throat Infection would do, I sat right here in this desk chair and googled ridiculous things and read the online articles in Yoga Journal. One such article was all about how to bring intention and caring and focus to your everyday duties (such as laundry, diaper changing, plotting against your Husband, etc.) and how this would bring calm and tranquility to your otherwise angst-filled life. Picture Kim having self-revelations and nodding in agreement and committing herself to practicing yogic principles in all aspects of her life. And then picture Master JEB The Goose awakening from his nap and relentlessly tormenting her ALL AFTERNOON LONG. And then picture Kim losing her patience and forgetting to breathe and RANTING and RAVING while the prosciutto and green pea linguine turned into corn starch mush. And then picture Husband walking in to see this Award Winning Mess of a Kitchen and a Wife and innocently saying, “What’s going on?”

So I started going off. I went off for quite a while (surprisingly, it is possible to speak really loudly when you have a Bacterial Throat Infection). And then when I finished listing all the annoying things that my child had done (none of which he EVER does when anyone else is present), The Goose rolled into the room on his cart, looked up at his father, and (I swear to God), said, “I did not.”

Husband looked at me and said, “Did he just say, “I did not”?

I’m not kidding. I am serious. He will never say it again, but he said it tonight, and he meant it, and I know that he is out to get me.

Of late, I have been thinking (ok, obsessing) about how difficult it is for me, this job of mothering. I said to my mother-in-law the other day that, “It just sucks” to have to do things like pick up individual rice pieces off of the floor because have you ever tried to sweep up cooked rice? And she said, “Well, it’s not so much that it sucks, it’s just really hard work and no one can really prepare you for it.” But still I think that in my mind, IT REALLY JUST SUCKS. It sucks to have to clean up the entire high chair (seat, back, bottom, straps, tray) and the floor around it multiple times a day and to have to wipe a butt attached to a writhing, screaming creature who one day will be unaware of all of my sacrifice. And PEOPLE, I have it good. I am lucky … he has no physical disabilities that we know of, no developmental delays, NOTHING. And in addition to that, Husband is here ALL THE TIME. We live at his job, so he’s here for breaks and lunch and often he goes in to work really early and is home by 2:30 p.m. What am I complaining about? This is the torment of my mind. It’s like I have a little angel on one shoulder saying, “Ah yes, how lucky, how blessed, how beautiful is your life, Kim.” And on the other shoulder is the red, horned devil saying, “You are not fit to be a mother because you complain about asinine things like ground-into-the-carpet cheerios and sticky apple-juice fingerprints on everything.”

WHY CAN'T I JUST BRING ATTENTION TO MY BREATH AND TO MY HEART WHERE IT IS QUIET AND CHANT SOMETHING ABOUT OM SHIVA AND THEN SAY NAMASTE AND HAVE IT ALL BE OK???

And so while I was at my stroller fitness class the other day (Mommies in Motion!), I was yik yakking about this topic and saying how I am bowled over daily by the level of difficulty I have in simple tasks such as putting on pajamas while simultaneously trying to prevent a major fall off of the changing table or my lap or attempting to perform stand-up baby diaper changes to avoid the CHANGING-TABLE FURY of my child. And none of the other moms said anything. They all just kept power walking and singing the hokey pokey and stuffing more cheese crackers into their kids’ pie holes. So to get their attention, I acted all dramatic (I know that’s hard to believe) and said, “Ummm, does anybody ELSE think it’s really hard … or is it just me?” One woman said, “Well, I feel like I can’t complain, because I only have one, and I just can’t imagine how hard it must be with two.” Another woman said, “Yeah, having two was a big life change for us.” Another said, “Well, I have a lot of help.” And come to find out, help means full-time enrollment for both kids in the Montessori school and a housekeeper, and we definitely don't have ANY of that.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. But I just needed to say, yet again, that I think this mommy business is VERY HARD and sometimes it SUCKS. Even though it involves a whole lotta great lovin’ and so much laughter and happiness and open-mouth kisses and all of that … the logistics of it is HARD. So there.

ION …

• My favorite country song right now is called “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off.”
• I just saw the movie Proof and it is fantastic.
• My parents are visiting next week.
• We are going to Austin next week.
• I am reading Stories of God by Rainer Maria Rilke.
• Husband is reading Exodus by Leon Uris.
• The Goose is reading various things ... Mallard Duck at Walden Pond, Everyone Poops, Where's My Teddy, Otters Underwater, Goodnight Moon, Where is Baby's Bellybutton? Corduroy's Halloween, Is your Mama a Llama? He loves anything with flaps or other tactile paraphrenalia. And every night Husband reads The Midnight Farm to him. It’s a good night book and also a counting book and so they count the farm animals in English, then Spanish, then German. I try to replicate this but my German is muy muy mal. Also I get distracted by the fact that not all of the lines rhyme (like "glove" and "stove") and then I start thinking about pronunciation and the American Phonetic Alphabet and vowels and consonants and how the mouth forms all of these sounds and then I think back to my lesson on primary and secondary syllable stress in academic vocabulary and ... and ... and ... then I try to see how much of it I could read entirely in Spanish (verdict: only the animal names) and then I start wondering how I managed to forget Every Single Spanish Verb I Ever Knew and by then The Goose has found his way into my shirt and the book is on the floor. Pitiful. And I wonder why he thinks The Dad is more fun.

And now I must go rest and allow the bacteria to rejuvenate themselves in my throat while I sleep.