Mom

"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his." Oscar Wilde

My mother has a zip-up hooded sweatshirt in every color of the rainbow. She has one to match any outfit that could possibly be assembled. And she takes her sweatshirts everywhere -- to the grocery store, to dinner, to baseball games and to the mall. I am certainly not like my mother, do not even own a zip up sweatshirt.

I wait entirely too long to do my laundry. First, the hamper must be stuffed to the brim and overflowing. Then, I separate out the dark colors and the light colors and leave them in piles on my floor so that there is more space in the hamper and I can continue to pile things in and avoid using the washer and dryer. When my floor is covered and the hamper is overflowing (exactly like it is right now), then I finally cave in and do the laundry. I put every pair of jeans that I own in the washer at the same time and I choose the "large" setting, never the "extra large" setting because that takes entirely too long to rinse. Then my mother finds the washer chocked full of wet jeans and gets very cross because the jeans will never get clean this way and because "I am going to break the washer." I am certainly not like my mother, she washes clothes sorted in small, organized laundry bins and is patient enough to use the "extra large" setting.

This weekend Ryan and I watched his two little cousins for 24 hours. I am exhausted. These are two great little kids. They are well-mannered; they sat through a whole dinner at Cheeseburger in Paradise without spilling any drinks or causing a scene. No loud outburts; no crying for soda refills. Ah yes, good kids. So before we went to see a movie we took them to the Dollar Store to stock up on candy. After several trips to the potty (who knew using the bathroom could be so laborious?), we made our way to some great seats to see Prince Caspian.

I have been excited to see this movie for ages. I love Aslan, I really do. I knew that taking the two kids to see the movie would slightly decrease the pleasure of my cinematic experience, but I prepared myself in advance that I would need to do things like open gummy hamburgers and put straws into juice boxes during the movie. I was ok with that. I also ensured that we used the potty one last time during the previews so that there would be no major interruptions.

Boy was I wrong. I guess I will see the second half of Prince Caspian another time.

We came home and eventually got the kids in bed. Then I passed out. I heard little feet starting at about 7:00am. 7:00am! On a Sunday. Are you kidding? I begrudgingly got out of bed and said good morning. I was met with "when are we going to the beach?" and "I'm hungry." Oh, nice to see you this morning also. I got the kids cereal and pop tarts. (Ryan had still not gotten up from his bed upstairs, out of hearing range of the pitter patter of little feet.) I was asked when we were going to the beach at least ten more times. It was 8:00am. A little while later I sent the kids to wake up Ryan. He stumbled downstairs in a sleepy stooper and asked where the coffee was. Note the assumption that I had already made the coffee. I pointed him in the direction and kindly let him know that I had already gotten the kids dressed and fed them.

By 10:15 we were on our way to the beach. We laid out towels and set up chairs. I sat down. Ah, sitting finally. Then I heard: "Kristin, this beach is boring. Why are we here? I want to go home." WHAT?! You have been pestering me to bring you to the beach for 2 hours. Are you serious?

Back at home by noon, I got the kids bathed and turned on a movie. They were tired so they sat in their bean bag chairs and tuned in. I went to take a shower. Afterwards I sat down, and no kidding literally the second that I got comfy in the chair, I heard, "Kristin can you get me a juice box and string cheese?"

I guess when you are a mother you don't get to sit down.

I began to seriously contemplate whether I ever wanted to have children. Then I began to think about my mother. How many juice boxes and string cheese did she bring to me so that I could keep watching my princess movies? How many times did I complain to her about going to the beach after begging her for hours to take me? How many times did she just want to sit down?

So I guess, maybe, I hope I do turn into my mother. I don't necessarily want all the zip-up sweatshirts though.

Thanks Mom for always taking care of me, always feeding me, always making sure I was having fun and for never complaining about not sitting down. I hope one day I can do that too.