The following was not written by me :( However, I found it on my new favorite blog! Her name is Annie and she lives in Utah. And unlike, Tamn, who is also in Utah -- She is a real person who writes about real things. Surprisingly, I think I like her more than Tamn. Which, to me, was absolutely, down-right shocking.
Check out her blog Regarding Annie (and read the small print under the heading. that's when I knew I'd love her!)
Hope you enjoy!
I am thick in the trenches of potty training, and let me tell you, they’re mucky trenches.
Here’s the thing about being a stay-at-home mother, taking full-time charge of stay-at-home children. Most of your daily conversations go something like this:
“Mommy, I’m hungry!” followed closely by, “Mommy, I’m thirsty!” followed even more closely by “Mommy, she pee-peed!” Really, as far as stimulating conversation goes, it’s always the wrong kind of stimulation.
And even with the beautiful addition of the telephone, days still go by when the only calls I get come at the most inopportune moments imaginable. Like times when I’m crouched over the toilet with my daughter, smiling through the pain while singing songs about feces. Really motivating work.
In the midst of all the ruckus and muckus and lonely daily commotion, there’s one person who most wives and mothers really love to hear from. No, it’s not the Supernanny (although she’d be welcomed here with open arms); it’s The Man.
Because sometimes, sitting around all day, folding clothes and cleaning up pee and not talking to a single adult makes a girl wonder: Does he ever think about me?
I don’t care what you do for your day job, as a woman, we like to think that he has to fight the urge to call. Maybe just because he misses you, or because he cares about you. Or because he was thinking about how totally awesome you are and how humbled he is to own a phone.
And then when the phone finally rings, you break into that great old song, “Let it please be him, Oh Dear God, it must be him, it must be him, or I shall die,” (forgive the name of deity here, but that really is how the song goes).
Then low and behold, you check the caller ID and … yes! It’s him! He’s remembered, and he’s attentive. He asks about the kids and praises your (not really so great) mommy skills. He’s sweet and friendly and chatty, and all you can think about is how lucky you are that he loves you, misses you, wants to talk to you.
“Oh yeah,” he says right before the conversation finishes, “One last thing. Could you run downstairs and tape the game? It’s coming on in five minutes and I really want to rewatch it.”
And that, my friends, is how they work. Because in the end, isn’t it really all about The Game? And just that fast, you can’t say no, because as far as the score goes, he just spent ten minutes earning points. He’s ahead. What can you do?
Oh you tape the game all right, but remember: The ball is once again in your court. Game on, baby.
