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I agree.
Jocelyn
I’m quoting from the SAHM I AM welcome message:
Please do not send one-liner messages such as “I agree” or “Me, too” to the entire loop. Send it to the individual to whom it is directed.
Thanks!
Rosalyn
“She looks well to the ways of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness.”
Proverbs 31:27 (NASB)
Sorry.
Z
Me, too! :)
Jocelyn
I mean it!
Connie
Come on, Connie, we were just giving Rosalyn a hard time. It’s late, the kids are in bed, and Ducie never showed up for our Monday online chat. What do you expect us to do for entertainment?
Z
…the worst day of my entire life! I may sound like a melodramatic teenager, but I’m not exaggerating. I came home from a church meeting last night and curled up on my bed in a fetal position. FETAL, mind you—not in the position of actually carrying a fetus, as some older women have asserted upon seeing my jogging-pants and T-shirt swathed body. No, fetal—as in lying on one’s side and tucking head and knees in toward body so as to create the sensation of prenatal security and comfort. A form commonly assumed when one begins one’s day cleaning up smelly diaper artwork off bedroom walls and ends it by being publicly humiliated in front of one’s church peers, with a trip to the gynecologist in between.
Oh, and so far today isn’t much better. Went to the grocery store and the cashier tried to talk to me in SPANISH! I get so tired of that. Just because one is adopted from Guatemala as a 3-year-old does not mean one is fluent in Spanish. Will people never stop judging me by my appearance? ARGH!
Adios, amigas,
Dulcie Huckleberry
Dulcie,
We missed you last night! What happened? Is everyone okay? Are YOU okay?
Jocelyn
Dear GE and Ham,
I’d never tell the whole SAHM I AM loop this, but since we have our own little sub-group, I know I can trust you. So if you want the whole, pathetic tale, fine. Grab a box of Kleenexes and settle in. I already alluded to the episode with Haley and her dirty diaper—all over the walls and crib. Having twins is hard enough without one of them trying to become the 1-year-old equivalent of those modern artists who hang a toilet on the wall and get paid millions for it.
In the afternoon, I had my annual gynecology checkup. First, I discover I am still ten pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight from the twins. (You don’t even want to know how far over I am from before McKenzie.) And since I am now older than 25, they thought it would be good to check my cholesterol. Is there anything more middle-aged than having to get one’s cholesterol tested? I think not.
It turns out that I have low GOOD cholesterol, and so am at HIGH RISK FOR HEART DISEASE! Can you believe it? I am 26 years old, for crying out loud! How can I possibly be at high risk?
I asked the good doc, and he said it was probably because I haven’t been exercising much. I’m like, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Not exercising, my foot! I chase after a 3-year-old and twin toddlers all day long, and I live in a two-story house where I have to run up and down the steps every time McKenzie tattles on her sisters. I most certainly do get exercise!”
But he just shrugged. Evidently, low good cholesterol is as bad as high bad cholesterol and cannot be changed much by diet. So the only chance I have to rescue myself from premature heart attacks is to increase my aerobic activity.
I personally think it’s a bunch of nonsense. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. The doctors are all in league with the fitness clubs and exercise equipment manufacturers—they’ve signed a secret pact to scare their patients into spending thousands of dollars on gym memberships and elliptical machines. Not to mention the Ab Blaster. They’ve been so successful on our parents that now they’ve turned their malevolence against us innocent gen-Xers.
I’m so mad, I’m going to have a 1,200-calorie burger for lunch, in protest. No, wait…nobody could possibly be THAT mad.
Waiting to die,
Dulcie
Dulcie, are you sure you count as a gen-Xer? I’m 33 so I KNOW I do. But 26? I mean, we can’t let just anybody don that title of distinction anytime they want to…. What do you think, Ham? Can we count her? She’s SOOOOO young!
Of course, anyone at high risk of heart disease by age 26 may not live to reach her 30s, so maybe we’d better bestow an honorary designation on her, just in case. Sort of a “make a wish” concession.
Sorry to hear about the weigh-in. I understand—each of my four babies has done something strange and unique to my body. By the way, there are worse things than being told to exercise more. Some of us actually like to do it.
Love,
Jocelyn
I don’t know about the gen-X question, she might want to hang her hat with the millennials. They’re the ones everyone is pinning hopes of the future on—as if the future is going to be that bright with global terrorism, disease, poverty and political corruption, but that’s just my gen-X cynicism.:) After all, I turned the big 3-0 last month, so I have a right to be cynical, don’t I?
Enough talk about generations. It’s all nonsense anyway. I want to hear about the rest of Dulcie’s day. So far, it doesn’t sound bad enough to explain us getting stood up. I mean it—I wait all week for the chance to chat with you. I’m still suffering from emotional trauma.
I’ll bill you for therapy, okay?
Z (aka Ham)
Am too a gen-Xer. I have baby-boomer parents, both my brothers are gen-Xers, and so is my husband. So, if nothing else, I’m guilty by association.
And I don’t want to hear any complaining about emotional trauma. I went to a meeting at church last night, wearing jogging pants and a baggy T-shirt. It occurred to me that I might want to change clothes, but then I’d have more laundry to do, so I didn’t. The pastor’s wife saw me from across the room and waved at me over about thirty people’s heads. Then she looked me up and down and got a huge grin on her face.
“Dulcie!” she exclaimed. “When, when, WHEN?”
Of course, all thirty heads swiveled my direction, sixty eyes suddenly riveted to my midsection. I got all flustered and my face felt sunburned. All I could manage was, “Not, not, NOT!”
Her response? “Are you sure?”
I’m not kidding! She actually frowned and stared harder at me. What? Does she think I’m lying to her? Or does she expect me to shout out across all those people, “No, I assure you, my husband has been gone on business trips almost constantly the past several months, and when he is home, I’m too irritated by his absence to want sex, so I am quite certain I’M NOT PREGNANT!”
Anyway, she wasn’t done consuming her own leg yet. She shook her head and smiled brightly at me, as if she’d just solved the problem for herself. “Oh, well, I guess you’re just wearing your all-you-can-eat clothes.”
MY ALL-I-CAN-EAT CLOTHES? Why, why, tell me, would a slim, 40-something pastor’s wife say such a humiliating thing to a defenseless SAHM? Was it really necessary to remind me, in front of all those people, that my figure has yet to recover from the distortion of carrying twins? Have I not already been ground into the dust of the earth?
I tried to laugh it off, but Marianne saw me, and you know I can’t hide anything from her. She walked over and told me she had something for me in her car, and when we got there, I just bawled. Marianne is very sweet, but she already has her figure back and Helene is only 8 months old. And Brandon comes home every day from the biochemical lab he works for and spends time with her. And she went to college to get a home economics degree, just so she could become the most brilliant and content SAHM in the world (but humbler than Rosalyn). She spends all day quilting and scrapbooking. The only fly in her utopian ointment is Helene. Where that baby got such a temper, I have NO idea—Brandon and Marianne are both so soft-spoken. But, hey, nobody’s life should be absolutely perfect.
Anyway, I digress. Needless to say, Marianne was scant comfort to my tattered ego. So I skipped the meeting, came home and put the girls to bed, and ate some ice cream and watched a stupid reality show on TV. I thought about chatting with you, and went to put on my all-I-can-chat pajamas. But as I was washing my face, I looked in the mirror, and guess what I found?
MY FIRST GRAY HAIR!
Thus, the fetal position and no chat. How on earth did I get so old? Sunday night, I was still the energetic, perky 20-something mom of three toddlers. Monday night, I have one foot in the grave with impending heart disease and look as if I frequent all-you-can-eat buffets. Not to mention the lingering odor of bodily excretions wafting throughout the house. If that doesn’t say “nursing home” to you, I don’t know what does.
Waiting glumly for my social security check,
Dulcie
Reason #1: “A gray head is a crown of glory; it is found in the way of righteousness.” Proverbs 16:31 DON’T YOU DARE PULL THAT HAIR OUT, YOU HEAR ME? :) IT’S A BADGE OF HONOR.
Reason #2: Your pastor’s wife probably went home later and banged her head against a wall wondering how she could have said something so stupid. Come on, you know that’s what you or I would be doing. Pastor’s wife or not, she can’t be all THAT different from the rest of us.
I think you should tell the whole sahmiam group about it. For encouragement—we can read and think “Gee, what am I complaining about? Things could always be worse!” :) Just teasin’
Z
Dear Future-shapers,
Dulcie, what a horrible day! However, I suppose if you’re going to wear jogging pants and a T-shirt to church, you might be asking for problems. I always believe in looking my best, even if I’m home all day.
Jocelyn, so sorry to hear that Tyler’s team lost. That’s too bad. But at least it’s an opportunity to build good sportsmanship. That’s something I worry about with my kids—Suzannah and Jefferson haven’t ever had to experience the pain of losing, though they are involved in piano and Bible club competitions. Of course, they are only 6 and 5, but they already have quite a collection of ribbons and awards. And Abigail’s just 3, but I anticipate she will follow in their footsteps. We’ll have to figure out how to teach them good sportsmanship some other way, I guess.
That reminds me—I am very pleased to announce that my recipe for Fresh Figs with Warm Balsamic Glaze won grand champion in the open division of our county fair. It will be headed to the state fair later this month. I’ll be glad to share the recipe with all of you. The key is to use sucanat or organic sugar—none of that refined junk. Just e-mail me if you want the recipe.
Have a fabulous SAHM day!
Rosalyn
“She looks well to the ways of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness.”
Proverbs 31:27 (NASB)
I’D LIKE TO TAKE THE BREAD OF IDLENESS AND SHOVE IT DOWN HER THROAT!
Dulcie
Now, Dulcie, I don’t think that’s exactly what Christ had in mind when He said, “Feed my sheep.”:) Give her grace, okay? She doesn’t mean to be…well, the way she is.
Peace,
Jocelyn
You’re right. I’ll drizzle it with “warm balsamic glaze” first. Using refined sugar, none of that organic junk.
Dulcie
Hi Darling,
I’ll be home around 6 this evening, and we’ll have the whole weekend together, OK? Sorry I wasn’t able to return your phone call on Monday. Sounds like it was a rough day. But by the time I got done with meetings and everything, I just went back to the hotel and crashed. This entire week has been wild. Glad it’s over.
I miss you, can’t wait to get home and see you and the girls.
All my love,
Tom
Virtuous Women,
This week I thought we could discuss the highlight of our children’s day—when Daddy comes home. What little things can we do each day to make this important event special, not only for our children, but also for our dearest hardworking husbands who sacrifice so much to provide for our families?
In our home, we spend from 4 to 5 every afternoon in preparation activities. These include the following:
1) I make sure my hair is done, and I put on makeup and change into fresher clothes.
2) My children make sure their clothes are clean, their hair is neat and their rooms are sparkling.
3) We tidy up the house.
4) Dinner is always nearly ready and the table set.
Then we have various extras we throw in on a rotating basis. Sometimes, we literally “roll out the red carpet”—a carpet runner laid on the sidewalk leading up to the front door—and give him a paper crown the children colored. Other times we simply have soothing music playing in the background while we rub his feet and shoulders. But my children’s favorite (and Chad’s) is the “Daddy’s Home” song. I wrote the lyrics a few years ago, and set them to the tune of “Oklahoma!”
HERE!
He comes, my daddy’s (or hubby’s) home from working hard all day,
And with kisses sweet,
And hugs we greet
Him at the door, just so that we can say…
How much we
LOVE!
To have him home with us the end of every day,
He’s a brave, strong man,
We’ll do all we can
To show our thanks to him in every way.
(Refrain)
