Penthouse at the Asylum

My Crazy Little World

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1950's Housewife
I continually feel like I was born at the wrong time. I love doing laundry, hand washing dishes, baking, cooking meals, cleaning the house and taking care of my family. The boy has been laughing at me all morning. It's just the two of us this morning, he had to leave for work at 6:45, but I got up at 5:30 to make breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon and fruit. I told him to rest until it was ready, but he sat at the counter and watched (continually asking if he could do something to help). As he watched, I noticed his smile growing bigger and I asked him what was up. He told me that I seemed really happy, like I was totally in my element. I smiled, felt embarrassed (I don't know why) and told him that I was. I love taking care of him. As archaic and old-fashioned as it may sound, I love taking care of him. I feel like it's my "job". It makes me extremely happy to please him, to take care of him, to take care of my daughter. I'm sure the fact that he doesn't expect me to do these things, makes me enjoy it that much more.

As far as the 1950's Stay-At-Home-Mom, I don't feel my role in that is as strong. Probably because I'm a single mom who works full time. Add to that the fact that my daughter is now going into third grade (so she's at school most of the year) and that she spends a couple nights and one weekend day with her dad, my time with her is limited. I wish, more than anything, that I could have stayed home with her full time from day one. I feel like I missed so much, I know that I did (and I cannot express the amount of guilt I feel because of it). So as much as I want to spend that quality time with her; teach her things; enjoy each stage of her life, I, more often than not, find myself frustrated with her. Because it's almost as though we need to get reacquainted with each other each time she returns home from spending time with her dad. When she's in school, she's so stressed (I don't know why) when she gets home, that she is hell on wheels and after a long day at work, my patience is thin. I hate the mother that I am, especially since I know the mother I want to be.

The need to take care of people is deeply embedded in me. I will do anything for anyone I care about and I expect nothing in return. It actually makes me feel guilty when people do things for me. Even these past six weeks while I've been recovering from surgery (and told to literally do NOTHING for the first two), I can't stand people doing things for. My neighbors handled my trash, mowed my lawn and watered my plants (usually while I was napping and didn't notice) all without my asking. My mom came and did laundry and light cleaning. My sister ran errands and tried to entertain me. And my daughter was amazing throughout the entire process, which truly shocked me. She made sure my cup of water was always full; made sure I had easy access to the heating pad; brought me snacks; covered me up when I fell asleep; and even watched TV on mute (reading the subtitles) if she thought I was asleep, which I kept telling her she didn't have to do. I guess that shows I might be doing something right with her.


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