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When Life Gets Difficult by Terri Schrader June 13, 2007 You know, when life gets difficult I remind myself that things could always be worse. My father may or may not be about to drop dead, and my mother's crazy. I say he may or may not drop dead because in our family we have a history of pronouncing people on their last legs long before they actually die. It's kind of anticlimactic, really. My brother has kidney disease, which he had as a child. My mother was always saying he could go any time, but he never went. In fact, he's 47. We were talking about my father the other day, and how mom just loves a good death watch with all the attendant drama and he said,"You know, she was always telling me that I didn't have long to live, so I was very surprised when I didn't die." I said, "I know. Me too." I didn't point out that he was really a jerk of an older brother when we were little and I frankly wasn't all that worried about him dying. I like him just fine now though. So here's the thing, my dad's health is failing and my mom's in a frenzy, and my husband seems to be following the same downward trajectory on his current job that he's had in all the other ones--he's yet to learn that being the funniest guy in the office is rarely a good thing in corporate America--and my best friend has inoperable cancer, and we have ants in the kitchen. My oldest son--a senior in high school who is a brilliant writer and loves physics and math, thinks he might want to study film in college. I don't have huge goals for my boys; I simply want them to grow up to be people I'd like to have lunch with. But film? Give me a break. I don't want to have lunch with someone who's going to pontificate about La Dolce Vita--which I don't remember liking very much. Then there's my fifth grade boy who exists on buttered toast, who's so thin you can see lamplight through his bones, and my youngest son, who eats everything in sight and now requires "husky" size jeans. I look at one and say, "For God's sake eat something!" and then I look at the other and say,"For God's sake stop eating!" Well I wish I could say that I move through the chaos with the grace and wisdom of a woman in control but I don't. I get very irritable. I've become weird. Strange things bring me great joy, like the robotic chimpanzee head I bought on e-bay. It's very life-like, and you can set it on "Alive" mode so that it will look at you and interact with you. It has motion sensors in its head and nostrils. You can also set it on remote and make it call all sorts of chimpanzee greetings and change it's facial expression as well. Once I put my face right up to it, nose to nose, and it simply raised it's eyebrows. Spooky! I have an idea for this chimp head that makes me very happy. I'd like to set it up in the passenger seat of my mini-van and drive around town with the windows down so when I'm at stoplights people will see me and my monkey. Sometimes I'll make him screech and then I'll turn and yell at him,"I've had it! I've told you and told you to keep quiet in the car dammit!" Then I'll drive away. I'm pretty sure this qualifies as madness, but it's fun anyway. So yes, things could be worse. My children are healthy and happy. It's the brilliant and heady beginning of summer. And I have my monkey head. About the author: I'm the married mother of three boys, who stayed at home until this year when I accidentally took a part time job as an aide at the school. I worked with a boy named Naekwon, although behind his back I changed it to Napalm. I love the kid, but he's got a one way ticket to crazy town. I am at this moment deliriously happy because it's 9:30 in the morning and my entire family is still asleep. I think that's one of the most difficult things about mothering--the demand to interact with people the instant you wake up. My brain does not work that way. I actually read about a study that proved that women often wake in a bad moods--here's an excerpt: A survey from Britain's Sleep Council has published a report that a majority of women wake up in a nasty humor, with some taking as much as four hours to get over their funk. Why are women crankier in the morning? Interestingly, both reasons cited by the study may not speak to inherent differences in women's bodies, but the invisible toll caretaking exacts on the psyche. According to the survey, more women tend to worry through the night, and in the morning, five times as many women as men begin their days with housekeeping and childcare chores. That's sort of my mantra these days: The invisible toll that caretaking takes on the psyche. Man, is that ever true. | | | |
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