Let me preface this post by saying that I love my husband dearly and he is the world’s biggest sweetheart.
But, really … sometimes words fail me. No, that’s not true; I can come up with a suitably witty and/or scathing reply to almost any situation, but unfortunately it’s usually several hours after it would have come in handy.
Anyway, I have mentioned before the fact that I have been gaining a little weight and in response I have joined a gym and given up almost anything that you would conceivably want to eat.
I really feel as though things have been going quite well, and I’m not averse to sneaking a sideways glance at the mirror (after I’ve had a chance to suck in, rearrange and otherwise primp anything that might spoil the view).
So, the other day I’m standing in the kitchen, minding my own business, and hubby grabs my bum rather unceremoniously and announces that I’m ‘filling those jeans more and more all the time’.
Did he recoil in horror when he realized his monumental blunder? Did he desperately backtrack and try to explain what he actually meant? Not a bit of it. In fact, he snorted and turned away in frustration when I failed to see how that was quite obviously a compliment.
How did I end up looking like the bad guy in this scenario?
Hasn’t it always been said that women are the consummate multi-taskers?
It has long been a source of frustration that this gene somehow skipped me. Not that I don’t try, but my deficiency in that department is the cause of many a burnt meal, and such frustrating phenomena as the washing machine full of dry, dirty clothes that was never quite set going. It really puts a kink in my ‘super-mum’ delusions when I go to move the washing to the dryer only to find that I didn’t actually do it in the first place.
That also accounts for the irregularity of this blog. This week I might be an enthusiastic blogger, but next week I might be concentrating on my choir or my business. I do seem to have a severely limited focal capacity.
Anyway, the point is that this deficit is clearly the cause of the pickle I’m in right now. I have been so wrapped up in the children for the past 18 years that everything else has gone by the wayside.
I bow down in admiration to those who keep an immaculate house while raising happy, well-adjusted children, volunteering at the food bank and holding down a full-time job. Okay, that’s a lie … actually I’m so riddled with insecurity and bitterness that I wait and long for their perfect worlds to crumble around them, because clearly so much smug self-satisfaction needs to be taken down a peg or two.
And science, it seems, is on my side. It appears that ‘they’ (those venerated researchers whose work we can happily scoff at until it backs up our own opinions) have decided that multi-tasking is a myth and translates to nothing more than a serious case of ADD. Ha!
So, there you have it. I will use that to justify the fact that I got lost in parenting, because to date I seem to have been the only person around who’s willing to tell me that’s okay. And if I forget to blog for a while you’ll know that I just decided to focus my attention completely and productively on something else.