Diary of a Bored Housewife
A New Series.
I’m trying out a new series for size, “Diary of a Bored Housewife.” If you like it, please let me know. If you hate it, I guess let me know that, too.
“Mom, Lizzy threw up again!” “Ash, I’m going to work. Can you get my dry cleaning? And Lizzy made a mess all over Cy’s bedroom floor again.” “MOM! I’M COLD! WHERE IS MY BATHROBE?!” “MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA! WA WA!”
This is what I woke up to this morning.
The demands of domestic drudgery never end. Some days it feels manageable, and others is like a slow, cold drowning where you’re more exhausted than upset, but the frustration remains the same.
After cleaning up after my poor little grandma poodle, I received a text from my son’s school. “Bus 18 is running 20 minutes late.” Alright. This gives me time to pack for our Vermont trip this weekend — wow that made me feel really white privilege and snobby.
22 minutes pass, then 32. Wait! Alas! “There it is!” I shout. There it was and there it went, speeding by with empty seats. “What the hell, Martha?” I can feel my forehead wrinkles deepening as I frown, looking at my duped 6-year-old who has been waiting patiently in the rain for his ride to first grade.
I call the school. “Hi, it’s Ashley Meyer, Cy Meyer’s mom — again. Bus 18 just drove by and didn’t stop to pick him up. Is she going to turn around?” “Hmm I don’t think so. The buses have already completed their route. You’re going to have to bring him in Can you do that?” Sometimes I wonder what the working moms do in these instances. Probably have their nannies take care of it. “Of course,” I say.
Feeling a 6 out of 10 on the annoyance meter, I pull into the parking lot to drop my sweet boy off at school. CRACK. He slams his door into the truck next to us. I inhale. No scratch on the truck, phew. Chipped paint on the Volvo. God damn it. I take a deep breath and tell him it isn’t a big deal even though inside I am fuming. “Let’s not tell dad.” He nods in agreeance.
I call the vet when I get home and explain Lizzy’s GI problems of the last few days. “Hmm, better bring her in.” Okay. I lug the baby and dog back into the car. “Is the card on file okay to use?” The front desk asks as I walk in. “Yes.” I say this with conviction but my rib cage tightens because it’s only a matter of time before Jake questions the presumed $400 vet bill during one of his weekly American Express scrolls.
After getting Zee’s medication and new grandma food, we head back home to complete the morning routine of Poe playing and screaming my name for more pretzels and more WA WA while I try and work on my laptop. It’s very soothing. And productive!
All I can think is, “Thank god it’s Friday.”
This was the cherry on top of a hell-on-the-homestead week where Poe’s dresser drawer broke, leaving an eye sore for me to look at 100 times a day, Cy’s bathroom shower pipe bursted (the wet carpet mixed with the house’s homemade musty scent has been a joy for our noses), and the sliding door has decided not to slide open, but rather be pushed and wrangled in order for anyone to get in and out of the house.
That concludes today’s Diary of A Bored Housewife. If this is received well, I will continue the series. I’ve been getting rather bored with Take A Sip’s wellness and self-improvement preachery, which must only mean you are bored with it as well. Do let me know your thoughts!
Thank you for reading. I will be aprés skiing in Vermont this weekend like a good Connecticut housewife should.