Seriously, I know I am coming across as a screaming ball of grrrr but there are things that are making me happy. They just aren’t quite as prominent as the things that are pissing me off. So, without further ado, my latest complaints: the goddamn bed, shoes that don’t match my daughter’s clothes, and the feeling that my attempts to raise my kids to not be spoiled, selfish, materialistic little shits are being undermined. But first, let’s go back to October, shall we?
Heavily pregnant, I announce that any purchase of a new bed will have to wait until spring because I simply cannot get ready for it any earlier. I have made space for the sofa and chairs, computer armoire, and removed upwards of 12 boxes and bags of stuff from the premises. I proceed to give birth to a wonderful baby. A week after his arrival, my mother in law comes to help and announces, ‘You know, it wouldn’t be so cluttered in here if you got rid of some stuff.’
I did not kill, maim, or even curse her.
In the ensuing weeks (5 of ’em), we have received many a bag of food we already had, goods we didn’t want. Finally, under the auspices of taking Lucy to buy winter boots, she has come home with 2 pairs of pink sneakers and one pair of red (yes, red) chukka boots. Snow boots? Nope. Shoes that match more than 2 outfits? Nope. Crap to clutter up the house that ‘wouldn’t be so cluttered if I just got rid of stuff’? Oh yeah.
Meanwhile back at the ranch…the bed. She has picked out a bed for us. The wooden headboard it once came with is discontinued so we need to pick out a cloth one (at a 500$ cost to us because it puts the cost up over what she wanted to pay). There are swatches. None of them match anything in the room. The bed doesn’t match the Queen Anne tables beside the bed.
For the past week, I have been beating myself up over all of the things I’m not getting done. Things like clearing the clutter that gathered at the end of my pregnancy which was so kindly pointed out to me at 1 week postpartum. Like not being able to keep the house picked up enough to clean properly. Like keeping up with the 90% reduction (which I ‘may have to give up’ in order to live according to someone else’s standards because ‘you know there’s only so much you can do. I recycle all my plastic and we’re switching to those fluorescent bulbs so I’m doing my part.’) Like making sure that my child understands that you don’t need 8 pairs of shoes or electric pencil sharpeners or to redecorate your bedroom in order to match a freaking headboard because these values are important to me, and they are important to my husband.
And so I am furious. I’m mad that I ran around like a lunatic trying to figure out a bed situation that I already said I didn’t want to do until spring. I’m mad that I’ve been feeling like a terrible person because I haven’t been able to keep the house spotless. I’m furious that I rush through breastfeeding to prove that I don’t have to ‘come to my senses and bottlefeed’ in order to get things done. And I’m over the fucking roof that I now have to haul my children out to purchase a pair of snowboots because I cannot trust that the ones my MIL pick out will match *anything* and that my child would come home with boots and not 7 more pairs of ugly and overly expensive shoes that I have to store in my house that, yes, is too cluttered. But most of all I can’t believe that anyone would be so rude as to completely ignore the values set forth clearly by the parents of a child. It’s one thing to want to spoil your grandkid, it’s yet another to drop so much money and cater so much to every whim that the child comes home demanding gifts.
So, yeah, this is why I’m so bloody cranky. It’s bound to get worse as we get to the actual Xmas gifting, so strap in.