Tag 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.



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.


For Some Reason My Husband Puts Up With Me

Fairie Painting by Lillian Connelly

I don’t know how or why, but for some reason my husband puts up with me. I just want to say right now, if you like a perfectly neat house, never marry an artist. I mean, I have taken over the little guest house we have and filled it with easels and paint and canvases. Everything is art, art, art up in there. It’s like sitting inside a rainbow. There is no color scheme unless you count all the colors as a color scheme. Not to mention, I keep collecting odds and ends that I might need someday in a collage or sculpture or to make a stamp out of. I have even saved the plastic netting my lemons came in because that netted plastic might make a really cool stencil on something…someday. If I can find it.

Anyway, over the winter I took over the dining room table because my studio was cold. It happened again. Last night I claimed the dining room table as all mine…ALL MINE. I had to paint, but I needed to be near Tiny-Small who was busy simultaneously watching Mulan, eating a snack, and playing with her imaginary friend Boo-Boo, who we found out is a dog, is brown, is big, and likes to pet Tiny-Small. He is also gender neutral because while she calls him a “him” she also says he is her girlfriend. It looks like dressing her only in green and yellow baby clothes finally paid off. Anyway, this morning my dining room table looks like this because I literally painted until two minutes before I went to bed. Best night ever!

Messy table.
Here we go again. I don’t know how my husband puts up with me.

I don’t know how Jim puts up with me. He never complains. Meanwhile, I am always annoyed that he leaves his shoes in the middle of the floor or keeps every scrap of paper he encounters in a day in a pile on the kitchen counter. I think he is probably going to win spouse of the year award for putting up with my bad habits. Unfortunately, I am totally losing for my ungracious nature and messy I-own-this-table year round behavior, but also winning because I married the spouse of the year award recipient. Yes, Jim is still getting the short end of the stick, but that probably happens a lot to people who get these type of awards, don’t ya think?

face painting by Lillian Connelly
Faces, faces, faces.

I have more than one bad habit when it comes to making art. I probably have too many to list here, but I will tell you I have an unhealthy obsession with art supplies. I want them all. One of each, at least, to be precise. As soon as I try something new I read about something else new and have to try it…right now! TODAY! I recently read that most women spend their extra money on their appearance. What does it mean that I spend my walking around money on Stabilo pencils and paint markers? It means I walk around looking like I bought my clothes off of the thrift store clearance rack…because I did. Yes, this is what happens when your spouse is an artist. You have to suffer their throw-back appearance, unkempt hair, and watch them spend your hard-earned money on pastel crayons and fancy papers.

I don’t know how Jim puts up with me and my obsessive nature. I paint face after face…three in one day yesterday, and he compliments every single one as if he has never seen it done before. When I day-dream about a new watercolor brush, he comes home with it to surprise me. When I apologize about the table being covered with all of my stuff he pretends he doesn’t even notice. When I don’t sell any paintings he reassures me that I will next week. He says he doesn’t care about having a neat house with perfectly clean and tidy everything. He’d rather be married to an artist. He’d rather be married to me.

Girl Power painting of a gal with blue hair.
Girl Power!

I guess I can forgive him for leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor…at least this once, right? I mean, it’s the least I could do for this man who loves me enough to put up with my bad behavior. He even does it with a smile. He is totally winning that award this year, even if I have to make it myself…on the dining room table.