The Perfect Mother

So, to begin with, WTH Google??  Changing things again??  I don't have time to learn much less read these days.  I'm not interested in change.  I'm interested in CONSISTENCY.  I'm lucky to get a few moments to write the occasional post (by occasional I mean 1/x every 3 months). 

Back to my original subject.  The Perfect Mother.  She exists.  It isn't a myth.  The one I hate to hate because she's so darn nice.  But hate her, nonetheless I do.  She has boundless energy.  I see her riding her bike several times a day, all decked out in her professional bike riding attire.  Where the hell does she have this energy, especially at 7pm at night?  By 7:30pm, I'm lying in the chair in a half-comatose state, my little one snuggled up onto my lap.  And who is watching her children during these rides?  She obviously has help and plenty of it, whenever she wants.  That reason alone is enough for me to resent her.  My one activity that I love more than anything, playing the piano, is something I get to do maybe 2-3 times a MONTH - certainly not EVERY DAY. 

I see her play with her children throughout the day.  I never hear her yell, even when one of her children happen to run out into the street.  All I ever hear is positive praise.  Good job this, good job that. Come to MY house and you'll watch this over-worked, overly-exhausted mama, hair half up, half down, likely broccoli and spinach in my teeth along w/bad breath because I haven't had time in months to really give my teeth a good brushing.  In between the occasional comments of praise you will hear "don't touch that...no leave that alone...come here yes you i said COME HERE put that down before you hurt yourself no we don't touch that".  I NEVER hear those words come out of this mom's mouth.  Another reason I hate her. 

Who is cooking the meals and cleaning the house during all of this excessive outside playtime, I think.  And the house.  Oh, the house.  I walk by and peek inside.  Nary a toy do I see.  The yard, no toys either.  The lawn, PERFECTLY manicured.  Flowers?  All in tact and watered.  Come to MY house and you'll see buckets, little shovels and rakes, turned over pots and a massive smattering of dandelions in our always-needing-to-be-mowed lawn, and the plants sitting there many of whom beg for water in their droopy state.  My poor plants, many of whom are half-picked because I have a curious toddler who thinks all things with a pretty petal must be picked. 

And there's the nice factor.  She always waves, always stops to chat, always with a smile on her face.  UGH!  DOESN'T SHE EVER LOOK TIRED?  ISN'T SHE EVER BITCHY?  When I'm having a mama day, I don't always wave.  Chatting isn't something I want to do - unless it involves a shoulder to cry on, some good pastries and a babysitter.  And smiles?  Forget about it!

I would continue but I'm having a mama day.  So before I put my foot in my mouth even further, I shall close up.