Every day around here blurs into the next. I get up and walk the dogs, feed the children, exercise, do laundry, run errands, make lunch, clean up lunch, make dinner, clean up dinner, do more laundry, take a bath, put on my old lady nightgown, play some scrabble with David and go to bed. Somewhere in there I usually educate the children and occasionally buy other peoples trash.
Yesterday I asked David, "Am I boring?"
"Yes" he answered, "but you don't bore me."
I think that what he means is that while my life is very boring, I am entirely too weird to be boring.
I like to read a lot of FBI murder mystery thrillers. These books get me thinking that I might enjoy being an FBI agent. I would carry a gun and be very fit and stealthy. I would get top secret phone calls from important government people about spies and evil dictators. The phone would ring and then a helicopter would appear in my back yard. The president needs me in Washington right away for a briefing!
"You'll have to be in charge of dinner tonight, sweetie!" I would yell to David over the roar of the helicopter blades.
This is the part where the fantasy of my glamorous new life as a crime fighter falls apart because I know that I would never make it into that helicopter. Not only am I terrified of helicopters, I also know that my children would be clutching my legs, crying and begging me not to go.
"But children, the president needs me!" I'd explain.
"No, mommy! We want to be with yooooooou!" they'd cry.
My career would be ruined. No one would want to hire a former FBI agent whose children won't let go of her legs and whose husband can't find the dental floss without her.
So you see, the reason my life is so boring is because of the children. And the dogs. Not to mention the cats. And that laundry isn't just going to wash itself- believe me I've tried.
Being a housewife brings its own urgency and glamor. It's a bit like being the queen over a small but devoted tribe of lunatics who can't help but be constantly on the verge of a revolt. They present me with a daily litany of complaints, most of which are ignored. Every once in a while a petition is granted and hot cocoa is served.
Now that I think about it I quashed at least three rebellions today and granted cookies to my subjects. And I didn't even have to ride a helicopter.
It's good to be queen.