Presents In Mind / Does This Make Me a Grinch?

Toys suck.

Even all the lead paint aside I am praying to God that we do NOT get toys this Christmas. I have been working overtime begging all the relatives and some of our friends to give us books instead. I mean if we get books I know just what the kids will do with them; they'll sit and browse them. I will be able to drink a cup of coffee and enjoy a measure of Christmas myself.

Face it, I'm selfish.

If we get toys I will be instantly transported to that twist-tie RSI hell steeped in the zap-strap-fuelled-crankiness and whoa look out. Mama hates me some toy products more often than not. If we get the damn toys I will spend the morning breaking up fights while I try to actually get this crap out of all the overpackaging. I will be rifling for batteries and sorting out all the age inappropriate crap.

To meet my goal I have two dear souls to thank really. Those being my librarian-parent-blogger compatriots Mad Hatter and Kittenpie. Thanks to their terrific online lists I have made use of the evil empire's fancy interface functionality to post our public booklist and be generally really pushy about wanting books not toys. I am secretly hoping that they will, in fact, use their local bookstore or our really fine flagship Vancouver store but no matter how they come. Wish me luck, I cannot face a load of toys like last year and part of me know that toys for our 3 year old are going to be 10 times worse.

Never mind that this might save me from those quarterly book buying sprees I have that have become a bit ridiculous. I mean as a librarian I don't really need to buy books at all but, still....

Vacuum

"Do you like being at home?"

The question hangs in the air still. 5 days after I sat over lunch with the dear friend who posed it.

"I like looking after my kids", I said.

Was that accurate? No. It was pretty vacuous, actually.

I turn the question over and over again. No short answers arise. Do I think it is important to be at home? OK. Do I find it satisfying? No. Would I rather be at work? Not really/Only if I could be two places at once. What about work? Is it more important to me? Well it is pretty important, but that's not it.

I think at times about what I miss about work. That's easy. I am VERY good at my job. I miss being 'very good' at something. In my case motherhood has found accomplishment and validation to be rather fleeting. Since any barely good mothering, if not parenting, stresses the need for an unrelenting putting aside of self-seeking.

If pressed I would argue that there are many like me who crave a greater degree of validation in their lives than parenting offers. I would further argue that thousands a few use this unconscious need to fuel cliche judgementalism and peer-parent hating. If the kids won't make us feel valued, hell, at least we can gossip about being lesser fuck ups than the Smiths, Joneses and Changs.

"Do I like being at home?"

Whadda ya mean? This a crazy crazy business. This life inside the consumo-corporate defined family contract. It isn't really a matter of liking it. But for now, I wouldn't have it any other way.

In related news I am so sick of the growing ubiquity of febreze. It is about as extraneous as the phrasing growing ubiquity.

** for more on the should she or shouldn't he of stay-at-homes check the links, hey.

There's just an empty space

So what is it that has me thinking my life is as gay as a pack of Phil Collins lyrics?

Well I'll tell you what. After a day of an exhaustion too crushing to leave me able to reassemble the blender and thus walking away from the whole kitchen. And after a weekend of varied parental ruin resplendent with cheap discipline and poor or no napping, 100% nitrate based nutrional solutions... After all that I was given this tonight!



Ah, the Fresco. A robust replacment for the five-year-old Bonjourno I had to retire last month. The beloved oh-so-barely-out of the doghouse p-man took it upon himself to pick this up for me today as a postscript to his workin' man barista -based interlude circa 10:25.

Bless you, husband.

You know for a week or so I have been pretty deep in the 'what am I doing here?' I miss work. I miss the opportunities to kick butt and be heard. I miss my old latte for breakfast, latte for lunch, followed by a sensible dinner routine. I think it was when the Bonjourno gave out that was the straw that broke this camel's back. While I can persist in this imp driven impatience-o-vision universe it is less rosy without the comfort of fuzzy milk.

Honey, you're the only one who really knew me at all.

Don't even joke about it

The moments to myself are measured in seconds not minutes these days. I am beyond edgy.

I confess in hushed tones to my husband my need to 'take a break'. I am physically, mentally and emotionally drained as a primary caregiver for three weeks. You can bet I don't know how the hell many other parents pull the weight I am labouring under.

Don't count me one to ever say chirpish-ly "I'm a single mother for a few days"... That is such crapola. I know single mothers and you don't joke about that sort of stuff. I have one friend who tossed the useless father with a 9 month old baby in her arms. Often imitated, never duplicated. Single parents I remain in awe.

ps.. I really like it when life gives me the chance to say crapola. It is such a happy word.