This is the Life!!!

Standing in front of the washing machine this morning, I found myself staring at the water for a moment. Catching myself in a space far away from the kids arguing and dirty kitty litter boxes. Yeah, I was there...warm beach, light breeze, anything not kid friendly to drink. Pondering on the word agitator. Agitation. Ironic eh!? The action alone resembles my life. Symbolic of people past and present and even some irrelevant souls. Reality sets in as I grab a towel and wipe down the edges of the washing machine, the cracks and top. Gotta be thorough! Does this really even matter? Somebodies gotta do it right? Just then, my eight year-old runs into me and yells "Mommy! Look! Look!" yes, he had his fingers poking his eyebrows up and crossed eyes. Really. I could feel the urgency. What is it with everybody running into me anyway? I will get to that later.

Agitate. to shake, set in motion; to stir violently; to disturb, excite-to keep up with the discussion of, especially with a view to reform.

Agitator. one who stirs or keeps up a public agitation. (pg. 9, Webster's Dictionary)

I feel like a washing machine most days. Disturbed and stirred violently. The laundromat. A one-machine wonder. Capable of superhuman solving! Deep in my gut...goosh-goosh-goosh...the mess of the day. Bits of chores that only I can handle and pieces of emotional matter to be sorted. Everyone inserting their dirty laundry and expecting a glistening turn of events in no time at all. Meanwhile, playing without a care in the world. Oh no! My dirty laundry is still in the hamper!

Finally finding my feet, humming around the house. The beat of my soul, goosh-goosh-goosh...accomplishment is a sweet melody. I find myself shooshing the occupants of my house so I can complete the thought I am processing, or the task I am completing or just because I am no longer accepting requests. Sure, they hate this. I really don't care. There are a thousand unfinished duties under this roof. Goosh-goosh-goosh...I wish I had on head phones! Struggling to remember every word of that song I heard yesterday...egh...the beat will work for now!

Don't get me wrong. It is only on occasion that I shoosh the little angels whom I shared DNA with. More often my husband. Agitator:A. He has yet to understand that he too has an agitator. It must be in the shop or buried under the pile of junk in the corner. What the heck? How does this stuff happen? Interrogating my family has led me to believe we have another child living with us...or possibly a grown man...we named him Dave Ming-Chang. He is really messy. Leaving socks behind the couch and losing my damn scissors and nail clippers...drinking the last of the milk and thoughtfully leaving the jug, lid on, for me to rinse and recycle.

There was a time I was perfect. You know, those moms that have perfect houses, makeup on and hair done every time you see them, always smiley and seem so rested. Okay, I was never perfect. Sorry to ruin the story. I tried hard. Holding myself to the standard imposed upon me at birth. When did this become my own? I don't own this! As women, and mothers, we all have this idea of perfection. Inflicted by men. Of course men can easily preach of this belief because they can't let us know what the left hand is doing as long as the right hand is making us a to-do list. My husband is great about helping when he is in the mood. I am lucky he has the mood. But know that when I am faced with the question "why isn't ____ finished?" I just say "I wasn't in the mood". It's my empowerment to choose my tasks. Yeah it's a bit awnry, but fun just the same! There's a huge weight of oppression on women in society. Shall we be excellent housekeepers or mothers? I choose the latter.

Rushing our kids out the door to school two minutes too late...and the mortified thought of walking into school with pj pants on...yeah. You know those moms. What kind of pills do they take to get their mouth that shape? Oh, it's just a smile huh? Yeah. That's on my list. Goosh-goosh-goosh! So, here's to my dad next time he points out that I have pizza sauce on my wall: grab a towel! To my husband next time he wants to make menial tasks my priority: Work it out! For the other moms that point out my imperfections: My shoes...good luck filling them! Shall I keep going?

On that note...I should stop. Don't want to be vulnerable to the power of agitation!

In my pursuit of a silly, giggly good time, I am not ending this to wash dishes. I am going to go tackle my rotten boys with tickles.

This is the life!