You gotta ask yourself, "What's wrong with this picture?"
If you're anything like me, your ordinary day probably starts in a similar way. Oh, the characters and culprits may vary, but the basic plot remains the same. The same question reverberates from households across the country the minute the gun goes off at the gate.
I get out of bed and stumble into the bathroom, children and dogs close on my heels. It's as if a radar blip has gone off throughout the house, letting everyone know my proximity and that I'm doing something that requires privacy. I can envision mothers universally nodding their heads in solidarity.
There's an unwritten rule somewhere that we're not allowed to pee or chat on the phone or check our email by ourselves. Almost as if they're afraid we'll never come out once we lock the door behind us. My guess is that's closer to the truth than they'd care to admit. I mean, have your kids ever ventured to knock on the bathroom door while their father is sequestered inside? In my house, the roof would have to be on fire first.
The morning has now moved itself into the kitchen. Breakfast has been served and there's a sudden flurry of homework papers and folders in a last minute frenzy before the squeal of the bus is heard down the street. My husband is still upstairs, no doubt on the phone or doing something that requires adult thought, as I glance longingly at my computer and the emails waiting for me from my editor. Dish towel in hand, I wipe stray Cheerios and milk...emails left waiting, my latest deadline on hold and my muse forced to listen to muzak while I'm busy being Mom.
I used to joke with my girlfriends if you asked any successful woman what the difference was between them and a successful man, they'd answer...a wife. That, and of course the pay differential.
So, while my husband conducts business from the minute he steps foot out of bed, I'm left to conduct the business of the house like Toscanini in front of the New York Symphony Orchestra, my own work left waiting in the wings.
The kids rush off and I watch from the porch, a series of their I love you(s) still lingering in the air as they run for the bus. Closing the door behind me, I walk back into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, my eyes passing my office and my still quiet laptop. My husband smiles and winks at me over his own cup of joe, quietly handing me the drawing of our family our eight year old did in school the day before.
What's wrong with this picture?
Not a damn thing.
My inaugural post on my blog Madcap Moms...What's Wrong with this Picture April 10, 2011