Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Bathtime laptop

I sort of need one. The bath is where I do my best thinking. When I'm soaking away the aches and pains in some hot water, I think of all the things I want to blog about. That's when I reach sudden clarity about my feelings, what I'm thinking about, etc. Of course, by the time I get out, dry off and run a brush through my hair it has all gone away.

It was a little overwhelming this morning to see all the updates on the many blogs I follow. And, it shamed me a little for not being better at this. It's not like I don't want to be, I just happen to fall into a lot of routine ruts and cycles. I'll see someone blog about something that inspires me and instead of being able to do the same, I'm off on a google hunt for a new camera so I can use it to blog with pictures. Not that when I had one I did much with it. I think it's just an excuse I make up, " Oh, I can't blog today, I don't have a digital camera. "

A few weeks ago I cooked with the brat. I took pictures of the steaks after seasoning them, and again after they were done. And I never posted them. I didn't think they looked good enough. So, I fear I'll always have an excuse not to get on here. It's because I feel like I don't have much worthy of sharing. I'm not a Martha Stewart type guru of cooking and crafts. I'm just a dreamer with too high standards.

It wasn't too long ago that Aine helped me make sense of those feelings, wanting to be the tv-prefect embodiment of something that doesn't really exist. Except, that I stubbornly do believe in the existence of those perfect people. My mother was one of them. She was a single mom with a spotless apartment, fabulous cooking skills, she could sew and knit, she taught me history, legends and myths and folklore. She could dance, and craft, and interpret dreams. She was as close to perfect as any human can get. When I walk around her neighborhood once a week I am stopped at least three times by random people who know her, who want to tell me how great she is.

So why can't I be more like her? Why can't I wake up at six thirty, do a little reading, bathe and dress, make breakfast for the brat and pack him off to school ? Why can't I follow that with cleaning and grocery shopping, and meal prepping and have her life? I rarely ever saw her do those things unless it was a weekend. She did it all behind the scenes like a magician. And still had time to go out, explore, etc.

Sure, part of it is that I'm sick. Hard to dance and cook and clean with too little blood and not enough air, but I always feel like she could have done it anyway. It's a very harsh standard. It also makes me feel like I won't get to do some of the grander things I want to do in life, if I can't so much as keep a blog and a neat home.

I think it should be called Cleaver Syndrome, and Aine should get royalties from it.

In other news, I will finally be seeing a hematologist tomorrow who will hopefully help me get healthy enough to strive for Perfect June-itis. After that, it's off to see Priest on Friday with Punky and The Raven. The theatre is close enough for us to go and get back all before the boys are out of school. Very convenient, that. To top it off, the weekend shall also be filled with much adventuring. It's officially Bronx Week, and there's much fun to be had. Trolleys, carnivals, canoes, and more.

I have to go make dinner now, but if someone pokes, prods, and reminds me, I'll blog a little more later.


1 comment:

  1. I hope you enjoyed Bronx Week! And your visit to the doctor was helpful in getting you back on track to stellar health!
    Don't beat yourself up over the 'Cleaver Syndrome'. We are each perfect in our own unique way and have so much to offer others. :0)