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Longing for a tubal ligation

13 Feb

Finding myself escaping from my house a little too often, especially on the weekends and holidays, when all six of the family are parked there. Like a wolf pack at the point where there has to be a split of leadership, it feels like, and meanwhile there’s lots of noise and scuffling of claws, and the wood floor I refinished last summer is all scraped up. There are numerous “strong personalities” in the household, and in that popular personality type classification, there ain’t no golden retrievers around here (except during the welcome visits of my mother-in-law), nor much channeling of cheerful, fun-loving otter at times like those.

My husband is an early riser and is already up when I arrive in the kitchen for breakfast and chores. He’s researching some Black Friday sales and keeping an eye on the football game. Ive never really adjusted to the t.v. dominating any part of my life, and even though I value good film and even enjoy an occasional light screen diversion, I feel so saturated by tubal excretions lately (it doesn’t take much) that any interest in adding any more, even quality content, has drained away. The sports networks in particular are thieving away our time and quiet, and I call it out to no avail. It’s not just the game for a few hours any more, but the pre-game features and post- game analysis that basically takes all day. I long for quiet especially now that I’m in the classroom several time a week.

My youngest son is waiting for me in the kitchen, hoping for some hot breakfast, and I help him make cheesy scrambled eggs. As I fix my yoghurt and granola, one of the other lions arrive. This is a person who never wakes up cheerful or even pleasantly groggy, and unless we all walk on eggshells (or have already prepared white flour waffles with whipped cream, bacon on the side) there will be roaring within minutes. It’s as if that’s her way to get energized–she seeks conflict, has from her first manifestations of personality. When she was little I clued in that she enjoyed a play fight–the push and shove made her laugh and even feel special–touch as love language. She owns the rough-and-tumble husky, which helps, as I often forget that words don’t mean the same thing. Lately I’m the most likely human recipient of the first blast of irritability, and I feel obliged to remind her once again that rudeness isn’t allowed and that she should go back to her room until she’s ready to be civil. My husband tells me not to take it personally. I don’t want to take it at all.

After trying to facilitate a nice, friendly or at least “do no harm” atmosphere at home, and to maintain some leadership of the domestic environs (not that I want it, but because I’m seen as the main housekeeper when it comes to messes and maintenance) so that the six users don’t leave the kitchen and living room trashed, I feel myself losing ground and slipping into sarcasm, a victim mentality, and decide to make my first retreat, a time to my bedroom. It’s quieter, and I have the calming view of the bare trees blowing in the wind outside the window that covers more than half the width of the wall, rain knocked off the patio canopy and juncos foraging in the garden. But I can still hear the roaring from there, despite the new solid wood doors we installed this year. Not fighting, per se, but the debate over whose preferences to go with as to the day’s activities–walk? movie? pizza? shopping? The daughters throw around personal insults which at other times they’ve told me are just a peculiar expression of love–the term “idiot” being most prevalent, and I count five such in the space of a minute, all from the mouth of the lion. I lean back against four pillows, hoping someone decides to go for a walk or even see a movie. I get in my zone, the buzzing of complaints in my head eases and a more proactive agenda starts to emerge. I can get outside and work on refinishing chairs if I go pick up some more sandpaper and nails. The rain has eased off and maybe I’ll be able to finish building the last raised bed, set up some rain buckets to water the beds of greens I want to plant in the greenhouse for winter salads.

 

 

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