Self-inflicted
My husband often reminds me of the law school adage: "The first year they scare you to death. The second year they work you to death. The third year they bore you to death." I'm sitting here alone, with a splitting headache. The combination of wearing my contacts all day and corralling the wild herd at home, has my head throbbing like the bass line of a bad disco song. The contacts are an easy fix. My kids, not so much.
What do you do with a toddler who, in the span of an hour, takes her diaper off three times, covers herself in globs of sunscreen, and "cleans" her potty with toothpaste? The therapeutic primal scream didn't do much to temper my frustrations. Nor did it do much for the headache. It just startled the kids who went right back to whatever it was they were doing, which is not to say what they were supposed to be doing. I'm just glad the landlord didn't come running upstairs to see what was going on. He'd just see a maniacal mother in the midst of a meltdown.
Sure, the second year has been tough for my husband. Why wouldn't it be? Law journal, externship, president of the Jewish Law Students Association, co-chair of two or three committees, research assistanceships and, oh yes, classes. My husband has never been one to shy away from responsibility. And as a result, he has been up every night this month till well past midnight.
And I've been managing the demands and challenges of each of my children's unique developmental stages with the grace and competency of a Bush Administration Hack. That is to say, horrendously.
To be fair, I don't make it any easier for myself. This morning I was chairing a meeting of my own. I volunteered, fully of my own volition, to prepare a Friday night dinner for the Sephardic synagogue. This morning I presented my menu "Sephardic Cuba" along with the recipes scaled for 100 people, and a shopping list, to my committee. In my defense, I am really excited to be whipping up a grand repast. I've never done anything like this before, and I genuinely enjoy cooking, so it is an act of love for me.
At least, that's how I justify it when I am completely deluding myself. So far, so good!
Oh, and I've convinced the rabbi to teach a class on the Sephardic laws of kashrut, keeping kosher. What else would I be doing with my last free hour of the week?
How can I berate my husband for taking on more than he can chew (only to do a spectacular job at everything)? How can I fault him for being too giving of his time, too generous of his energies? We're cut from the same cloth: a pair of overcommited nut jobs with too great a sense of responsibility to the world around us. And too little for our own well-beings.
In my defense, I need a life away from my family. I love my husband and my children with every fiber of my being, but devoting myself to them 24/7 would leave me a burnt-out shell in no time. I need time away from my brood to do something meaningful, important, and fun. I think hours in a hot kitchen with other adults, whipping up pollo al mojo and picadillo for 100 will be fun. Won't it? Don't you think? Kind of?
The big difference is that I fit my extrafamilial activities around the kids, not vice-versa; therefore, I feel perfectly justified scolding my husband for taking on a few too many obligations. Mine are therapeutic, his are overkill.
We keep telling ourselves things will get easier. Classes will let up, the extra activities are finite. The kids will grow out of it. Who are we kidding? It's who we are: masochistic overachievers. It's why my husband is so cut out for law school. He doesn't want to relax and kick back. It's why I haven't loaded the kids into the van and gone home to Texas. We thrive on the pressure of a deadline.
Perhaps I doth protest too much. Truth be told, I can't wait to be bored to death.
What do you do with a toddler who, in the span of an hour, takes her diaper off three times, covers herself in globs of sunscreen, and "cleans" her potty with toothpaste? The therapeutic primal scream didn't do much to temper my frustrations. Nor did it do much for the headache. It just startled the kids who went right back to whatever it was they were doing, which is not to say what they were supposed to be doing. I'm just glad the landlord didn't come running upstairs to see what was going on. He'd just see a maniacal mother in the midst of a meltdown.
Sure, the second year has been tough for my husband. Why wouldn't it be? Law journal, externship, president of the Jewish Law Students Association, co-chair of two or three committees, research assistanceships and, oh yes, classes. My husband has never been one to shy away from responsibility. And as a result, he has been up every night this month till well past midnight.
And I've been managing the demands and challenges of each of my children's unique developmental stages with the grace and competency of a Bush Administration Hack. That is to say, horrendously.
To be fair, I don't make it any easier for myself. This morning I was chairing a meeting of my own. I volunteered, fully of my own volition, to prepare a Friday night dinner for the Sephardic synagogue. This morning I presented my menu "Sephardic Cuba" along with the recipes scaled for 100 people, and a shopping list, to my committee. In my defense, I am really excited to be whipping up a grand repast. I've never done anything like this before, and I genuinely enjoy cooking, so it is an act of love for me.
At least, that's how I justify it when I am completely deluding myself. So far, so good!
Oh, and I've convinced the rabbi to teach a class on the Sephardic laws of kashrut, keeping kosher. What else would I be doing with my last free hour of the week?
How can I berate my husband for taking on more than he can chew (only to do a spectacular job at everything)? How can I fault him for being too giving of his time, too generous of his energies? We're cut from the same cloth: a pair of overcommited nut jobs with too great a sense of responsibility to the world around us. And too little for our own well-beings.
In my defense, I need a life away from my family. I love my husband and my children with every fiber of my being, but devoting myself to them 24/7 would leave me a burnt-out shell in no time. I need time away from my brood to do something meaningful, important, and fun. I think hours in a hot kitchen with other adults, whipping up pollo al mojo and picadillo for 100 will be fun. Won't it? Don't you think? Kind of?
The big difference is that I fit my extrafamilial activities around the kids, not vice-versa; therefore, I feel perfectly justified scolding my husband for taking on a few too many obligations. Mine are therapeutic, his are overkill.
We keep telling ourselves things will get easier. Classes will let up, the extra activities are finite. The kids will grow out of it. Who are we kidding? It's who we are: masochistic overachievers. It's why my husband is so cut out for law school. He doesn't want to relax and kick back. It's why I haven't loaded the kids into the van and gone home to Texas. We thrive on the pressure of a deadline.
Perhaps I doth protest too much. Truth be told, I can't wait to be bored to death.
posted by law school widow at 8:37 PM
3 Comments:
Thou doth not protest too much. Moms need to maintain their skills and interests, and kids need to see their fathers too.
Once you're bored to death, you'll find some way to spend that time, too. You aren't he only one!
When is this dinner...it sounds delicious!
The meal sounds really exciting and fun! I wish you'd given us the menu! I hope you let us know how it turns out.
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