These are difficult days, because your daughter stands in the doorway to her room, arms slack at her sides and bellows “Where Is My Grey Cardigan??” and when you ask, “Which Grey Cardigan” she looks at you like you are smoking a tampon and answers, “I only Have One, Mom!” You cock your head to the side the way the dog does when she hears the word “Walk?” spoken with just the right inflection, but the daughter does not smile and pat your head. She slams her door.
These are difficult days, because your husband has been away - and while you missed him, surely, a little bit, you also revelled in the new pacing of the days, the oddball back-of-refrigerator meals (or sneaky, never to be disclosed takeout). Now he is back and he thinks the house is particularly appalling and there’s a chance he thinks you smell bad, or he’s noticed the atrophy brought on by your long days of working and distant relationship with the gym. (If you were IN a relationship, the best description of the gym might be “bitter divorcee”), but you aren’t sure you were ever married. And your husband is male, and thus hobbled by the dangling appendage whose use he seems to have forgotten is dependent on dialogue. So. You are at an impasse. You say, “I’m so glad you’re home. I love you.” And he says, “Did you call the dance studio? They called last week about payment.”
These are difficult days because your day job steals night and day and night again because you come home disgruntled and in need of wine and eager to talk to someone about the petrie dish of disfunction you’ve navigated and nobody cares. And nobody should. But you do, which is a character flaw.
These are difficult days because the child still gets sick at night and needs you up and ready with the bucket and the cloth and the back rub and the hand on the forehead, even though thinks you stole her phone and moved her homework and don’t understand, really, even a little bit, how hard it is to get by without a BlackBerry at her school. Really. Honestly?Oh. My. God. Really. You. Are. So. You don’t get it at all. Rub lower, wait. there. right.
These are difficult days because you realize you will be 50 soon enough and you are blessed with two healthy children and a partner you love most days and food to eat, and all of your problems are “champagne problems.” That’s what your boss says. And you know he’s right, even though he reminds you of Kojak without the charm.
These are difficult days because you love your husband, and you notice that he is aging well, and that in general men age well, which isn’t fair and you have an inkling that the way you age might matter, and when you look in the mirror, the face there reminds you of a rounded waffle. The flat kind. Makeup isn’t like syrup or jam. It doesn’t help, just goes into the cracks and magnifies them, like the cute little flags at fancy parties that identify cheese types. “Brie!” “Aged Cheddar” “Crevice from early zit factory” “Skin tag removal scar” “laugh-line-turned-tunnel to lip”
These are difficult days because you know you can’t complain. Because who are you to complain. These are your difficult days? You should be so lucky.
These are difficult days because they go so quickly.
How did you manage to capture this feeling so well? (And make me laugh. "Kojak without the charm"--love it.)This middle of the map, middle of the trip frustration. The exhaustion and resentment that comes along with all the gratefulness and meaning. Maybe these are champagne problems of sorts, but they're still freakin' hard to navigate and remain in one piece. Bravo to you for doing it (and writing about it) so beautifully.
ReplyDelete