Mole Whacking
This is the time of the night (10:30 p.m.) and the time of the week (Sunday night) that I think, I can't do it. I am tired, my head aches, my carpets need to be vacuumed and I just can't wake up in six hours to walk. I can't coerce my boys into completing their math in the morning. I can't deal with my two year old being two years old. I can't handle DaycareKid and CuteBaby and I certainly can't manage watching the two extra kids I agreed to watch in the morning for four hours (ages 2 and 4 months). I can't come up with dinner for tomorrow night. I can't finish the laundry. I can't face another day. I'm weary.
But I will, because that's what I do.
I wake up, I move through my day step by step, moment by moment, chore by chore. I do what has to be done. I cook again. I wash dishes again. I change diapers again. I guide my boys through lessons again. I do it all again and again and again. I'm always puzzled when people say, "I don't know how you do it!" because there's only one way--tackle the next thing that pops up--a lot like "Whack-a-Mole." Next time someone asks how I manage, I'm going to say, "Oh, I just whack the next mole."
Last summer, I rode rides at the local fair with my youngest son. We chained ourselves into that giant circle of swings which rises up and flings its passengers high above the ground. At first, it was fun to feel the breeze and see the kaleidoscope of sights and feel the motion. And then, I clamped my jaw tight and fought the dizziness. We went around and around, past the point of joy and right into the land of too much. I held on until the swings slowed and deposited us back onto the ground, thankful to be stumbling on solid earth.
Some days, that's where I am. I'm on the ride, no longer exulting in the thrill of circling in the air, just holding on and waiting to be dumped back on unmoving ground. One sudden day, the motion will stop and everyone will disembark, leaving me swaying and disoriented and wishing I could pay six tickets to get back on the ride. I'll wish I'd taken pictures and laughed more and lived in the moment and avoided the dizziness.
I know. I know. I know. But tonight, the week seems daunting and unending and I'm tired already just thinking about it. Tomorrow, I will whack each mole as it pops up. That's what I do. Please, from now on, I'd like to be called Princess Mole Whacker. And I want a sash.
But I will, because that's what I do.
I wake up, I move through my day step by step, moment by moment, chore by chore. I do what has to be done. I cook again. I wash dishes again. I change diapers again. I guide my boys through lessons again. I do it all again and again and again. I'm always puzzled when people say, "I don't know how you do it!" because there's only one way--tackle the next thing that pops up--a lot like "Whack-a-Mole." Next time someone asks how I manage, I'm going to say, "Oh, I just whack the next mole."
Last summer, I rode rides at the local fair with my youngest son. We chained ourselves into that giant circle of swings which rises up and flings its passengers high above the ground. At first, it was fun to feel the breeze and see the kaleidoscope of sights and feel the motion. And then, I clamped my jaw tight and fought the dizziness. We went around and around, past the point of joy and right into the land of too much. I held on until the swings slowed and deposited us back onto the ground, thankful to be stumbling on solid earth.
Some days, that's where I am. I'm on the ride, no longer exulting in the thrill of circling in the air, just holding on and waiting to be dumped back on unmoving ground. One sudden day, the motion will stop and everyone will disembark, leaving me swaying and disoriented and wishing I could pay six tickets to get back on the ride. I'll wish I'd taken pictures and laughed more and lived in the moment and avoided the dizziness.
I know. I know. I know. But tonight, the week seems daunting and unending and I'm tired already just thinking about it. Tomorrow, I will whack each mole as it pops up. That's what I do. Please, from now on, I'd like to be called Princess Mole Whacker. And I want a sash.
posted by Melodee at Sunday, March 06, 2005
8 Comments:
"All Hail Princess Mole Whacker!"
Your sash is made of pure gold.
"All Hail Princess Mole Whacker!"
Your sash is made of pure gold.
As long as you don't whack that mole on the side of my cheek. Just kidding.
Your Royal Highness the Princess of Mole Whacking!!! You rule girl!!!!!
Perhaps you could assist with the mole problem we are having in our yard. The neighbor's cat cannot catch them quickly enough.
Oh Mel, I don't know how you do it....I definitely hail you princess mole whacker.
Well, Princess Mole Whacker ... I will get working on that sash to send it out to ASAP!
I'm sorry that last night everything seemed so daunting. I think we all have moments like that. I hope that you did survive today despite the feelings.
I say, forget Princess...You are Queen Mole Whacker! (unless you definitely prefer Princess...) Perhaps you could get a sash like girlscouts have and sew on little badges everytime you whack another mole! Here's your "Courage badge" for having the strength to wake up today. Here's your "Cooking badge" for making lunch for seven hundred little mouths...
My hat's off to you. I'm going on kid number two, and I don't know how I'm going to do it. You are my idol!
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