mother's little helper
2004-03-08 @ 9:29 a.m.
I just realized what I really need. I need a home health care worker. Okay- not really, but I know that there are people who work for the elderly and otherwise challenged people that are not really home healthcare workers per se, but they go to these folks homes and they say ďLetís buy your groceriesĒ or (I imagine) ďToday Iím here to help in your kitchenĒÖ
What I need, is someone showing up at my house saying ďHi. Letís do some laundryĒ.
Now, Iím sure all of you are thinking. Why doesnít Mommylap just think about getting a maid?
Because not only can I not afford one, I do not deserve one. I should be able to do all this stuff myself.
Because what I need is a motivator.
I could, somehow brainwash my children into being my motivators. And by ďmotivatorĒ I donít mean the reason behind why you are doing something- they are already that. I mean Tony Robbins.
When I walk into my home, I need an automated system to say-
ďGood evening Mommylap. Welcome home. How about them dishes?Ē
If I do it before I sit down, it gets done.
And as I leave-
ďHave a great Day Mommylap. Might I suggest you take a trash bag out with you?Ē
I have reached a point where I donít think it would piss me off. Come to think of it. I could ignore it.
Iím not saying I am elderly. I am saying that motherhood has made me feebleminded.
I need someone with the patience and skills of, for instance, discothekid, to assist me in my independent living.
I wouldnít care if that person made fun of me later in their diary. I would deserve it.
Is the problem that although I have people in my life who care enough about my state of living to judge me (sort of- thatís a bit of a projection) but they donít care enough to invite themselves over and see whatís up? Or they donít care enough to make an unforeseen offer to help? I know that I donít get ANY help that I donít ask for. And the asking is what paralyzes me. Because I know itís MY responsibility. I believe that it is. I also know that I am capable of completing these tasks. But nothing stays clean without an insane vigilance that I am not capable of. And I have to do it either on my one day to myself, or around the girls. And there is always the overwhelming knowledge that as soon as I turn my back to do something else, ka-blam. Disaster area. Seriously. You donít even have to add sugar. Itís like- enter, mix, disaster surprise.
I canít care about it every minute of every day no matter how important it is. And it IS important. There's no other place for us to go where we can avoid our squalor. There is no escape from the squalor.
But a reminding hologram of say June Cleaver might be amusing for a while.