Linking up with Shell for PYHO (Pour Your Heart Out) today. It’s been TOO long since I’ve done this, but today’s the day, people.
The kind of morning when you wake your kids up at 6:45 for school and realize 1/2 hour later that one of them is still upstairs in her jammies because she’s “too tired” to get dressed. So you literally stop lunch-packing, breakfast-making, etc to rush up the stairs two at at time to rip her iCarly pajamas off of her and pick an outfit for her and yank a brush through her tangled hair she refused to wash the night before. Like she’s a baby. Only she’s not, she’s seven years old. And she has a twin sister who is already dressed and finishing her breakfast downstairs. And you have to wake the baby, change her diaper, and get ready to throw everyone in the car, baby howling for her sippy cup of milk to drink on the ride there and back. Dog needing to go out, then begging for his breakfast. Meanwhile? I don’t even have time to change out of the clothes I slept in last night. Welcome to glorious, glamorous motherhood.
The very same morning, you clean your house like a madwoman because a news crew is coming to tape a segment for a project you’re working on. You hide all the toys, vacuum, light a candle to disguise the poopy diaper smell, put out some coffee table books and toss the Sandra Boynton board books in a cabinet. You whisk away the dust bunnies and chewed up dog toys. You don actual clothes and makeup. You even flat iron your hair, for fuck’s sake. Cameraman calls to say he’s running late. You wait and wait, thank G_d the baby is still napping and twins are at school. Then he comes and you talk for 30 ish minutes. And of all the phenomenal things you’ve said about Listen To Your Mother : Kansas City, some editor chooses a 5-second quote about moms and guns. Fuck my life. I have a Master’s degree in English, but the wee journalist in me says this is crap. I’m disappointed. I’m grateful we had the opportunity for publicity, but wtf, news editor? Oh, but my boobs make it in the clip, so that counts for something, right? At least I was wearing my Listen To Your Mother shirt!
And as long as I’m ranting, I may as well say some other things. Screw passive aggressiveness. Talk it out. Have feelings? Share them. And? Don’t have or let others email things on your behalf that you can’t or won’t say for yourself. Conversely, don’t email something about someone else that’s not about YOU. Leave it up to those involved to work through the trouble together. Be an adult. Wanna be miserable, great, but don’t drag me into it if I had nothing to do with it. Admit that we ALL have faults and nothing is entirely everyone else’s doing (or un-doing, as it were).
Family is all you have in the end. Remember that. Words hurt. The past is never forgotten and there are only so many times you can forgive. There are only so many times you can apologize. At least for me. I’ll always be the wicked daughter-in-law and I’ve come to accept that. I really don’t care anymore. I love my husband and he loves me. Our parents don’t have to love who we’ve chosen to be our spouses. D and I have our three girls and we have a happy (but crazy, hectic, and busy) life together. We are the Margolin Five. I love our four placemats at the dinner table and Piper’s highchair next to us. I love the mess of kiddie shoes and coats in the mud room. I never thought I’d be this blessed, but I am. My husband loves me, I love him, and we have our three darling daughters. That is ultimately all we need–each other. Anything else is a bonus, a surprise, an occasional gift.
I know this much is true: I love my life, I love everything I’m doing. I love getting involved and making new connections with people all over the WORLD every day. I was born to do these things. I’m making a difference, I’m putting myself out there. And if I fail? So be it. At least I’ve done something to try and make the world a better, brighter place. A smarter place.
Get out there and DO something.
Do something terrifying.
DARE to try and make a different in someone’s life.
I’ve come a long way, baby.