Most days, my feet hit the ground running. If you’re the Mom of your house, chances are you’re the same. Although the dishwasher was performing its magic on the last of the dinner dishes when I tucked myself in for slumber the night before, the Raccoon Crew, made up of multiple teenagers and their friends, made their evening dish deposits in the sink overnight. While the espresso machine whirs, I unload the dishwasher. I load its next set while I sip on a yummy Flat White. The clothes from the dryer are deposited on the table for folding and the dryer & washer are loaded for their next shifts.
The day goes along – work, rides, errands, games, dinner, dishes. Then life is the same on other end of the clock, though my feet aren’t exactly running at this time of the day. When the Mister & I decide it’s time to retire to the bedroom, my path includes: blowing out living room candles, turning off living room lights, locking the front door, picking up shoes & various incidentals from the floor, locking the back door, unplugging the space heater, turning off kitchen lights, coaxing The Angel to come to bed, turning off bathroom lights, powering on the fan, and pulling down the black-out blinds. His path was more direct: press button to make the couch’s footrest go down, walk to bed.Â
A month or so ago, I saw a couple of ladies -in their 60s if I had to guess- walking, or somewhat hobbling, into CVS ahead of me. One had her granddaughter walking next to her, who I overheard asking to be held. In the nicest way possible the lady explained that her body needed some rest right now. This lady was sincerely remorseful that her body wouldn’t permit fulfilling this request. I’m not sure why it took me ’til this moment to realize, that Dang! Mom’s bodies are worn tf out! As if carrying offspring inside out bodies isn’t taxing enough, the many other million tasks that come afterwards beat.us.down. (See: the two paragraphs above x 1,000,000, multipled by lots-o-days). The bottom line is Moms complete a multitude of nameless, daily mundane tasks that are mandatory to keep the machine of “House” in motion but go largely unnoticed and are energy zappers.
While painting at a friend’s house, I noticed every living being, minus the dog, would wander to the kitchen hutch at different times. They opened the doors, rummaged behind a few blockers (like dishcloths and such) and found their snack of choice. I mentioned to my friend that she needed a new snack hiding place but, no worries, her family had only found the refill spot for snacks. Her actual hiding spot for her stash was somewhere else entirely. In my house, it’s not snacks, but bath towels that are a hot commodity. I can’t count on my hands the number of times the main Towel-Washer of the house (namely, Me) gathers the towels from all the rooms, passes the duty off to the washer/dryer combo, folds and rehomes them…just to find them all gone when it’s time for the Towel-Washer’s shower. This led to the Hiding Towel Maneuver, that must be executed at the rehoming stage of the towel process. Another Mom in earshot of our conversation, admitted that she had to take extreme measures when hiding towels, snacks or anything else she would want for herself. Her safe place was the trunk of her car, which, in Indiana weather, is deemed Expert Level. The mental exhaustion of staying one step ahead of the family with actual, refill and hiding places for household supplies cannot be measured. Â
I sincerely don’t think any of us would change any of this, though. I remember sticking my hip out and carrying my young kiddos around while I did all the things.  I’m sure most moms agree: permanent spinal curvature is a better alternative than not holding your babies. The opposite of dishes in my sink in the morning? Children who don’t choose to hang out safely under my roof, feeling comfortable enough to eat our food instead of fast food. The opposite of a house full of responsibilities on my walk to bed? A clean but empty house with a predictable and mundane existence. If plenty of towels and snacks means my kids aren’t home, then I’d rather have a lack of towels and snacks.
The prize for the constant-ness of being a mom is the joy that comes with being a mom, so we definitely know to appreciate instead of curse it. So I’m not cursing it. I’m just saying wouldn’t it be cool to stop wearing ourselves out? A friend who recently separated from her husband had some time at home without kids for the first time in a long time. Her desire with this gift of time was to spend time cleaning. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but it caught my attention. How many Moms sacrifice time that could be spent on selfcare, instead, on keeping some part of the house in order? Who else in the family chooses to put the house’s needs before their own? Â
Oftentimes I get to my bed, after finishing my path of responsibilities, too spent to read. My eyes refuse to work even 10 minutes more. It’s not fair that I’m too tired to do anything during this small window of time set aside for Me. We all know if we don’t take care of ourselves, we have less to give others. We know that everyone wins when Mom is happy and balanced. So, why are some chores mandatory while it’s okay to short-change Me-time? Why do I put more importance on keeping the sink empty than providing my mind with 15 minutes of respite?
A brand new year seems the perfect time to change this up. In the mornings, I’ve started walking back to my room to read one chapter in bed with my Cup o’ Joe, letting the dishes wait until another empty mug can join.Â
I’m happy to report that my recently separated friend also used her extra alone time to sign up for guitar lessons, help a friend with a house project and get a new tattoo. I vote that we ladies resolve to treat ourselves like the new single lady or, simply, the lady who has been given the gift of time. Be okay with everything on ‘The List’ not getting done.  It probably sounds like I’m advocating the right to be more selfish, or lazy even. I am.Â
I had hopes of having this post completed and ready to share with the world first thing this new year. Around midnight, 12/31/23, I decided this imaginary deadline that I created for myself could simply not exist. Instead, on the first day of the new year, I drank my Latte while reading one chapter of a memoir. Then, since I had nowhere to be and no one to see, I slept next to my dog until 1 pm. On January 2nd, the first official back-to-work day for most, I scheduled a massage and a facial. 5 years ago I wrote 365 Deliberate Baby Steps, in which I committed to doing one small thing each day in the name of progression. I believe I’m now committing to doing one less thing each day and focusing more on self- happiness than progression. Much wisdom is earned with time lived.