Before kids, Groundhog Day was a funny movie starring Bill Murray and that awful chick, Andie what’s-her-name. Now, it has taken on a very different meaning. Only now do I understand how torturous it was for Bill to live that same day again and again, not least of all because he was given chance after chance to get it right and still, he kept fucking it up. Oh Bill, I am feeling you now.
The hardest thing for me is the relentlessness of life with very small children. Of having to be the adult when, inside, I feel like running to my mumma. No matter how good a day you just had, it all gets swept aside for the new day. Yesterday’s successes don’t count. You’ve just got to do it all again. But this time, you do it with the knowledge that there’s no way you’re going to top yesterday.
So the slate is wiped clean – a great thing when the day you just had sucked arse and bullshit when you just nailed everything. It’s all gone. Whoosh! Although maybe not in your mind. No, in your mind, you’re still living out the glory of yesterday.
The 3 Year Old: “Mumma, wanna come play farm animals for a little bit?”
The Little Mumma: “Noooo, honey. I played farm animals yesterday. Remember? And I made the funny pig face and we rolled around on the floor giggling and it was a totally bonding moment of togetherness? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten we played together yesterday. Yesterday was EPIC!”
The Mister: “Babe, what’s for dinner tonight?”
The Little Mumma: “Hahaha! You’re such a kidder, honey! I made dinner last night. Oh man, that dinner was good, huh? And I had it in the slow cooker by midday. Good times. ‘What’s for dinner tonight?’ he says. Hahaha! That’s so why I’m with you, babe. Because you make me laugh.”
Of course, I have never actually had either of those conversations. Out loud.
Good days. For me, a ‘good’ day means that I have ticked all the MUST DO boxes. There was food, people bathed, wore clothes, nappies were changed, used dishes were, at the very least, rinsed and stacked in the dishwasher and, if I was really hitting my straps, the kids and I may have smiled at each other briefly. A good day.
But in truth, a good day simply means I kept up. With the happenings of this one day. My head remained above water for the duration. But it’s ultimately a stand alone event. It cuts me absolutely no slack for tomorrow. I still have a huge backlog of things I reeeally need to do. But crossing things off a mile-long To-Do list does enter into the good day equation. If I actually crossed something off the To-Do list, that would constitute an upgrade. That would be a GREAT day.
A good day is nice to have. But it doesn’t change anything. The reward is in the day itself. It has no bearing on the future.
Conversely, a bad day can haunt you for months.
So, I don’t know. Being a stay-at-home mum is…..boring. You know, sometimes, it just really is. And if the most you can hope for is a good day, a day where things didn’t go backwards, then it’s not always easy to find the rewards.
My biggest problem, as I have discussed previously, is that I just want to do so much. And so much of that stuff is seriously hampered by having two kidlets under four looking to me to be Mumma. Which is, after all, who I am. With two tiny ones, that is my gig. And the days I surrender to that completely, putting aside all other aspirations, are the days that are not just good but even nice. When I am truly in the moment with my kids, that’s actually really, really nice.
And yes, a few days is my absolute maximum. Although, sometimes, a few hours is more like it!
Loved this! I often say I can only be supermom for a few days at a time! Then I need a couple of weeks of mediocre!
word. i agree. i tend to get caught up in bad day hangovers – where i’ve not quite emotionally recovered from the previous day the new one begins guns a blazin!!! But nothing beats not doing the housework, not thinking about what should be done and just hanging out making a HUGE mess with the kids x x
Oh yeah, the hits just keep comin’ most days. Nothing a good nap can’t fix, I say but my kids say different. Little brats.
I love those moments where I’ve lost myself in them. It doesn’t happen anywhere near as often as it should, though. I beat myself up a lot over that. A shame, but I’m working on it.
And OH! You (and FB) have tricked me into commenting on an older post. I thought there was something similar about this (DUH, I’d already read it). Well, that’ll teach me for not commenting the first time round.
And it shows my brain is mush right now.