Evidently, how I spend my days is how I spend my life. Also, there may be angels following me, Elvis may have left the building, and this is the first day of the rest of my life. And so on…
I hate trite. At least tonight, I do. Slogans like these make me start to hyperventilate and panic- well, except the Elvis one. What I do with my days, all to often, is nowhere near what I really want to be doing. I wipe things- the floor, tables, diapers, butts, dishes, the counter, the stove, the floor again, noses, tears, some more butt- you get the picture.
Yesterday, as I was cleaning the kitchen, wiping things down and picking up from Round Three of caring for my family, I suddenly exploded in a tirade of resentment. David- yes, I’m sick of using DH- whatever- his name is David- is sitting at the computer, wondering why his wife has gone insane.
The thing is, I’m a smart woman. The good Lord was generous in the Art department when he came to me, and sometimes I really want to devote more time to that part of myself- and I just don’t get to. I want to stomp my feet and whine and throw a big ol’ rager of a fit, just like my kids, and I want to get my way. Dammit. Anyone can do what I do around my house- can change diapers, wipe the floor for the umpteenth time, and put in a load of laundry.
No one but me can paint like me.
So what do I do? How do I keep the resentment from building up? Was I given talents for no reason? Is this a fair trade-off, and does fair even matter? Sometimes it feels like I’m trading really important things for the mundane- it’s not that caring for my kids isn’t important- but how much is the drudgery work or mothering really contributing to the quality of their parenting? Does it matter if I am the one who makes the floors sparkle?
I’m caught in a stand-off. Someone help me.