Category Archives: Marriage

Motherhood Is Like Being On Stage With Your Mic Turned Off

This morning I was in the shower, where I have all of my epiphanies, and I realized motherhood is like being on stage with your mic turned off. People are expecting you to perform and solve their problems and just be awesome, but at the same time they can’t seem to hear a word you are saying.

The other day, for instance, I was in the shower when I heard someone yelling, “Mom? Mom? Mom!” The yelling was coming from downstairs, but I figured if I could hear yelling someone could surely hear me yelling back, “I’m in the shower!” but I was completely wrong. This is what happened instead.

“Mom? Mom? MOM! Where are you, Mom? MOM!”

“I’m in the shower! I’m upstairs in the shower.”

“Mom? I can’t find you. Where is mom?”

“I’m upstairs in the shower!”

“Mom? I’m all alone. My mom left me. Maaaaaaaawwwwm. Maaaaaawwwwm!”

“I am right here in the shower!”

“Nobody is going to take care of me. Mom? Mom? Oh no, where is my Mom? Maaaawwwwwm!”

“In the shower! Upstairs!”

“Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? MOM!”

At this point I just couldn’t yell anymore so I jumped out of the shower, flung open the bathroom door and yelled, no screamed, “I-AM-IN-THE-SHOWER!” I wanted to yell something more like, “I am in the #$%&! shower!” but I didn’t because I am a mother and you aren’t supposed to swear at children even if you really, really want to.

Then I felt a hand on my wet, soapy leg. I looked down and there is my daughter staring up at me, “Why are you yelling, Mom? I heard you the first time.”

Again, swearing at children is against the parenting code of ethics so I just gave her my best stink-eye and tried not to grind my teeth.

Whatever. I’m a grownup. I have to act like one.

Motherhood Is Like Being On Stage With Your Mic Turned Off

I got back in the shower while my daughter stood in front of the mirror putting my face cream on her body like spackling. I was just grateful that the yelling had ended. As I was rinsing my hair the water from the showerhead sort of faded into a mere trickle. My house was built in the 80’s so the plumbing is a mystery. If you flush a toilet while someone is in the shower the water just stops coming out of the shower head and because we have an on-demand water heater the water also gets ice-cold.

My husband, even with all of the yelling back and forth between his wife and daughter for the past five minutes, had no idea that I was upstairs in the shower. Even though I had specifically told everyone, “I’m going to take a quick shower,” just moments before taking said shower, my family had no clue what had happened to me or where I was. I stood in the shower, naked and freezing with shampoo dripping into my eye waiting for the water to come back on. I thought all the swears…every single one, but I remained silent and started plotting my revenge. I haven’t taken an uninterrupted shower in five years. I swear, if I try to take a shower when nobody is home my husband will mysteriously arrive having forgotten something and flush the toilet, run the dishwasher, or decide to wash his hands as if he were scrubbing in for surgery. I plot my revenge on a regular basis these days. Five years of revenge is staring to take a toll.

Anyway, that’s another story for another day.

What I really want to say is I know my family isn’t deaf because they  hear other people speaking and they hear dogs barking. They laugh at funny things said on cartoons and comment on birds singing. My daughter can hear a whisper about chocolate ice cream from a mile away. My husband can sing the words to all of his favorite songs with accuracy. My family members can physically hear, but for some reason they cannot seem to hear me.

That’s why motherhood is like being on stage with your mic turned off. People see your lips moving, but apparently no sound is coming out…unless you yell and scream really, really loudly. Then they just act like you are a total lunatic because at that point, naked, shooting daggers out of your eyes with soap bubbles sliding down your cheek, you really are a lunatic.

Motherhood. It’s a mad house.

Pass the chocolate.



My Kid Needs A Job In Sales

I’ve been feeling under the weather so my husband decided to get up with our daughter this morning and let me get some extra sleep. I was snoozing away when something woke me up: A small shuffle, odd breathing in my ear, the sense that someone was standing over me.

It Was a Hazy Day 4x6 alcohol ink painting by Lillian Connelly on photo paper.
It Was a Hazy Day 4×6 alcohol ink painting by Lillian Connelly on photo paper.

I opened my eyes to see my daughter smiling inches from my face. “Hi mom!” she smiled, “You forgot this.” She handed me my cell phone. In confusion I looked at it to see if someone had called. She smiled knowingly, took my phone out of my hand and set it on my night stand.

“Mom,” she whispered, “You better get up. Dad made you coffee AND breakfast. It’s sitting out waiting for you.”

I was still half asleep and groggy from the pressure in my ears, the sore throat, and the post nasal drip. I stared at her not speaking. “You better get up, Mom,” she said in a very conspiratorial tone.

I sat up and got my bearings. I shuffled to the bathroom. She was chatting away behind me, “Your breakfast is getting cold. Hurry up. Dad made it. He made coffee. The coffee is extra healthy coffee. It’s just for you. It’s all for you. It’s waiting for you. Dad made it for you. It’s so good. It’s breakfast.”

I mumbled something about that being nice, but still felt confused. I finally turned and asked her, “Where is your dad anyway?”

“He’s somewhere.”


“He’s downstairs. Don’t you want your coffee, Mom?”

As I closed the door to the bathroom I heard her pacing and talking, the way she tells all of her best stories. “Dad made your coffee with love. Your breakfast is waiting for you. I want you to eat it. Are you coming? Dad is waiting. He had to cook the food and make the coffee in your coffee pot. It’s already waiting….”

As I was washing my hands I asked, “What did dad make me for breakfast?”

For the first time since I’d opened my eyes there was a long moment of silence and then she answered, “I don’t know.”

That seemed odd since it was supposed to be sitting out on the table waiting for me. “You don’t know?” I asked.

I opened the door to see my husband staring at me with apologetic eyes, “Sorry she woke you up,” he said.

“I’ve heard a rumor that you have made me coffee and breakfast,” I told him and watched his eyes get big with surprise.

“Well, I…” he started to say but was interrupted by our daughter yelling.

“I was just joking,” she yelled and waved her arms, “It was a joke. I told you a joke, Mom. It’s a joke! I just wanted you to get up, Mom”

I just stared at both of them as Jim shrugged and mouthed the word, “Sorry” then he added, “I will make you coffee right now though….”

I think I was just sold the Brooklyn bridge, you guys. My kid needs a job in sales. Maybe we can put her skills to good use while I crawl back into bed for a little more shut-eye.


No More Coffee?

Me: I am thinking about giving up coffee forever.

Jim: No More Coffee?

Me and Jim: Hahahahahahahahhahahahahhahahahahhahahahahha!

Ok, that conversation only took place in my head, but I am pretty sure I know Jim well enough to know that his reaction would be obscene laughter if he ever heard me suggest such a thing. I’d laugh too. Plus it’s fun to write “Haha” over and over again like a madman from a B rated horror film. I am even laughing out loud like that right now because that is fun too. Sometimes even I want to pretend be a B-movie villan.

No More Coffee?
The altar I worship at.

You’d understand the coffee devotion if you lived with us, which I am sure you don’t really want to do, but we have TWO coffee makers taking up valuable counter space in our kitchen. Coffee is practically a religion around here with the glorious coffee mug enjoying false idol status.

I like to make a pot of coffee. Very strong coffee. The kind of coffee people complain about. Jim is fancy and must have espresso or he will cry like a baby all day long. OK, that was a small exaggeration, he wouldn’t actually cry like a baby, but he would complain profusely if he had to drink regularly brewed coffee every morning. That is the truth. To illustrate my point, we actually pack the espresso maker when we go on trips that require a hotel stay.

I like a pot of coffee because I sometimes like to drink it all day long. I have a love affair with coffee breath, and flavored coffees, and cream. I even love decaf on occasion. Plus, I don’t want to fiddle with the espresso maker. I need a machine I can work with my eyes closed, that automatically shuts off by itself, and that makes enough coffee for guests too. Otherwise, what will our guests complain about? We don’t want them getting any ideas about moving in with us if you know what I mean. So we scare them off with threats of growing hair on their chests on the first morning they wake up in the dome.

Really though, what can I say? I’m just as bad as Jim when it comes to coffee consumption, but for different reasons. The truth is, I am a lazy person who would rather have the extra three minutes to stand around all spacey like and watch deer out the window while sipping a hot beverage in the morning. Espresso is too hard to make with tampers and parts and button-turny-switch things. However, I’d drink espresso every morning too, if someone else made it, but I get up too early for that to happen. If only we had a Butler or could train the dog to do it. Or Tiny-Small…an option that may come true one day if things go as planned.

No More Coffee?
Dear Coffee, I Love You.

Have I mentioned we have an entire kitchen cabinet devoted to just coffee? Jim has a variety of coffee beans that he likes to ground…which is loud and annoying, but I get him back by using the blender as much as possible during the rest of the day.  I keep begging him to not buy another can of coffee until he finishes the vast collection of beans he already has, but he cannot resist a shiny, new can of deliciousness anymore than I can resist the entire art supply store, so I try not to complain too much about it. I don’t want him to notice I have an entire guest house filled to the brim with art stuff I got on clearance at Michaels. Shhhh…don’t look under anything. Luckily, Tiny-Small has one favorite drink and that is milk. Her beverage consumption is simple and takes up very little space. Unfortunately, she makes up for her simple drinking life with a sticker collection, a doll collection and enough fashion accessories to open her own store. We need more cabinets and closets desperately.

Giving up coffee forever is not really an option. I feel as strongly about coffee as some people do about their guns. You’ll have to pry my steaming cup of java from my cold, dead hands.

I’m pretty sure Jim feels the same way. Plus we both might be hoarders. I guess we are a match made in coffee drinking heaven.