I just yelled that I don't want to "be a yeller" at my son. Who was yelling at me.
I see the irony of the situation.
Hence, the moment of notation.
Finished a book today about a woman in her early 40's who lives in the suburbs and is content but somewhat...bored. Not with the day to day activities because she had 3 kids and NO ONE can be bored with the amount of running involved in parenting 3 kids. But she was bored in the ways that only a suburban housewife of 3 who is not employed and whose kids are a bit older can be. In that "I have NO right to complain. No right. And yet... Is this it?" kind of way. So she started a blog and became wildly popular because writing a blog and becoming wildly popular is obviously easy to accomplish, if only you write from your heart, right?
Ever read a book that is placed in front you at just the right moment in time? Even though parts of it were wildly different from my own life, the main idea was spot on. It was an easy read (which doesn't equal "poorly written." Just a smooth and simple storyline that didn't require a thesaurus) and I finished it in a day. A few minutes ago, actually. Closed the cover as I sipped my reheated, day-old coffee. Pondered it at my kitchen table in my pajamas and single fuzzy red sock (because I am too lazy to look for its match). Wondered why I thought it actually resonated with me, when I am, in all intents and purposes, pretty freaking happy.
Does being content equate with being bored?
I wouldn't trade what I have for the world. I swear. But I sure would like to ADD to what I have.
Selfish, greedy things.
Things like having new clothes that fit and a hair cut not executed with kitchen shears in front of the bathroom mirror. Things like the drive to exercise so that those new clothes were in the size I was a year or two ago instead of the number that currently resides on my backside like some uninvited, demanding houseguest that won't take the hint that the party is OVER and get the HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE.
Things like skin that is either old or young and not both, simultaneously. Skin that will let me use anti-wrinkle cream without breaking out in acne the likes of which I've never encountered before. Pimples OR wrinkles, Universe.
PLEASE PICK JUST ONE.
Things like some elegance so that I don't continually bash my broken toe into chair legs, thereby lengthening the time of healing and chance of wearing any shoes other than my cozy and comfortable clogs. (It's going to be a while before I can don the walking boots again....)
It just occurred to me that today is the 30th of the month... Sometimes, the most obvious answer for discontent is the one that is staring straight at you from the calendar on your kitchen table.
PMS is kind of like alcohol except with PMS, I don't think I'm funnier and sexier than I usually am. PMS also doesn't cause me to break into song and dance with only one bar from "Grease." I guess PMS and alcohol aren't really all that alike except in the one glaring similarity: their ability to force a magnifying glass over the smallest distresses in one's life.
FYI: To add little more spice to my day, my blog has decided that not only will I not be able to see any comments that may be posted (oy, I could use some!) on the comment counter thingy unless I actually CLICK ON IT (go to older blog posts and see what I mean. I NEED HEELLLLPPP!!!), but I will also not be able to compose in anything other than the HTML format and I forget what the code is for "paragraph break", so this entire post looks like one loooong tirade when in ACTUALITY? I have been pushing "Enter" like it's magical way to solve all of Life's Problems.
I am also known as Justanothermom on Twitter and write on my blog, Just Another Mommy Blog. I homeschool 3 kids in the suburbs outside of Chicago and am a Co-Producer of Listen To Your Mother in Chicago.