Superwoman

I love this song from the 70's by Karyn White that goes:  "I'm not your superwoman.  I'm not the kind of girl that you can let down and think that everything is okay.  Boy I am only human.  This girl needs more than occasional hugs as a token of love from you to me."

I just love that song.  I'm thinking it works for motherhood too.  I feel like singing it to half my daughters tonight.  No one had school or work today but me, and I worked four hours (which drained my brain for what I was teaching today was new to me) and then I came home and feeling good after the episode with the cannonball and sleeping eleven hours last night, I cleaned the entire house top to bottom and went to Walmart.  So when I got back, said daughter had eaten leftovers and placed dishes in the sink of a spotless kitchen.  I was ticked off.  There was room in the dishwasher so why couldn't she load it?  She said she loaded and ran the dishwasher earlier in the day.

Is that some kind of quota she is meeting?  She's a legal adult now.  I know.  I should enforce some kind of demand for help around here.  I think I've just given up and am circling the airport in a landing pattern waiting for them to empty my nest.

I want them out, the parts of them that smart off and back talk and play video games and act like the dishwasher is a major chore when they dirtied their share of the dishes.  I want them to stay forever, the parts of them that scratch my back unexpectedly and knows right where the itch is, that lines up 19 bottles of BBQ sauce and 12 jars of peanut butter on the bar for me to see when I get home, that they are helping out with groceries, the part of them that laughs at my stupid jokes still.

All that cleaning made me tired and I have to work tomorrow.  You think school is Monday through Friday, but it ain't necessarily so.  When I get everything up to my standard (the house) it means something else is behind (the office).  And I don't even want to talk about finishing that new book from the DC.

Goodnight.