The Mom malaise has been plaguing me today. For those of you lucky enough not to suffer from it, the Mom malaise is an insidious disease that besets you and makes you wonder... What is the point? Why should I go on? I personally believe that Mom malaise is responsible for at least half the mindless TV watching by kids in this country and almost all the eating of bad snacks. Unfortunately the CDC is too busy with swine flu to have developed a vaccine and there is no known medicine though I often turn to the home remedy of wine.
It infected me today in Kindermusik where Calamity Jane turned into a creature from the fifth dimension. First overcome by a shyness that knew no bounds, she clung to me like a monkey and I was forced to dance around the room with her clinging to my neck while I held the hand of Desmonda Drama (who in typical dramatic fashion had one arm shadowing her eye and face). We were a clumsy six legged beast. I do not think the Kindermusik moms were impressed. Little did they know that the worst was yet to come.
About halfway through the class, Calamity Jane seemed to warm up to the idea that I was paying an outrageous sum for her to be amused. So I turned her around on my knee and we proceeded to sing, which song I can't remember. Which it was a pity because it is obviously the trigger for Jane's subconscious baby terrorist. I would really hate for her to start throwing knives, fashioned from board books of course, at me as we dutifully listen to the CD in the car.
She didn't quite throw knives this morning but she did start screaming and hitting me, then kicked her sister in the head, then leaned over and bit me on the shoulder. I promptly picked them up like barrels (Desmonda was screaming indignantly; she does not like being kicked in the head) and set them outside the classroom. As the Kindermusik moms stared at me in horror, I retrieved my shoes and slinked out the door. They all kept singing throughout of course.
Mom malaise was in overdrive. I questioned why I had signed up for the class since my children were obviously not fit for the public sphere. I despaired of their chances of ever getting invited to a birthday party by any of the Kindermusik kids, not to mention my own chance to discuss organic egg souffles (being earnestly and enthusiastically covered as I walked into class). It was obvious to me that Calamity Jane was going to grow up to be an outcast who would never be accepted into society and would, of course, blame me. As for Desmonda, she would probably never remove the hand from over her face and would remain a recluse, teased mercilessly from the moment she walked into kindergarten. Worst of all, after paying for Kindermusik I would never be able to afford their therapy.
This was all sobbed on the phone to my sister. Which I am sure she appreciated since she is pregnant; wouldn't that make you look forward to motherhood? I managed to pull myself together to meet the husband for our Wednesday lunch, where I started crying again. He stitched me back together enough for me to get home and get the terror twins to bed for the blessed nap. But the malaise loves a quiet house and I couldn't stomach any of the usual cures: glass of wine (I do try to wait until four), phone call to a friend (I like to put on a brave front), or mindless TV (why oh why did I watch Rachel Zoe yesterday?!).
So I fretted my way through the afternoon working myself into a frenzy until the girls woke up (for once I didn't mind a short nap). I half read books to them and fed them snacks and meandered around the house before coming up with the idea of heading outside. I spread a quilt out and covered it with books, including a frothy novel for me. And we sat out there for an hour reading and eating pretend food and rolling around on the ground. Mom malaise vanquished, at least for today.
Sometimes it really is the simple things.