Failing at Wife and Life

This week I failed miserably as a mother.

I had a long weekend of work and I was looking forward to a day off on Monday.  Mr. Gaga had a lot of big important meetings at work so he got up and left early.  I got up early too – ready to start the day.  I had a “to-do” list a mile long.

Michael complained of a cramp as he put on his sneakers to leave for the bus.

“I’m sure it’s fine – maybe you just have to poop?” I suggested.

He declined my offer to let him have some poop time and I would drive him to school, so off he went.

I headed out to my spinning class.  I usually don’t bring my phone with me but just to be safe, I brought it with me to my bike so I could be sure not to miss a call from the school.

I did receive a couple of phone calls from a strange number, but ignored them, thinking they were telemarketers.

I enjoyed a much-needed workout and at the end of the class while I was stretching I grabbed my phone.  The mystery number had called twice and left a message and there was a text from Mr. Gaga.

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I don’t know about your household, but in my household, there’s nothing worse than hot lava.

It is presumed to be the most deadly and treacherous substance that should obviously be avoided at all costs.

My children have nearly destroyed all of my furniture from jumping frantically onto couches and chairs to avoid “FAKE HOT LAVA.”

So when I read Mr. Gaga’s text I nearly threw up myself.

I was in deep shit, and there was nothing I could do or say to explain myself.

I ran for my life out of the spinning studio.

I called Mr. Gaga as I peeled out and headed home.

“What’s going on?” I asked trepidously.

“Well Michael threw up at school so the nurse called you twice and you didn’t answer your phone. So then he threw up again and so she called me.  So I excused myself from my meeting to go get him.”

“But it was a number that I didn’t recognize!” I defended myself.

“Just get home.” he answered shortly.

I was totally fucked.

And what could I say?

That my spinning class is more important than my motherly duties?

I am not even skinny!!!

Had I known all of this trouble was brewing - I would have gotten off of my bike and gone home!!
Had I known all of this trouble was brewing – I would have gotten off of my bike and gone home!!

Well my punishment for my neglectful ways was to be stuck in the house with Michael while he vomited every 20-30 minutes.

After he had thrown up 13 times (I counted) – I call the doctor to see if this was normal.

They suggested that I spoon-feed him Gatorade, one teaspoon every ten minutes to make sure that he wouldn’t die.

DAMN YOU UNIVERSE!!

Last week I blogged about how I silently judge parents who let their children drink sports drinks regularly.

I was stranded at home and Mr. Gaga wasn’t due home until 9 PM – “Hmm, I wonder if I called any of those Gatorade parents  and asked for a Gatorade if they would lend me one..” I thought.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I held out for Mr. Gaga.

Michael lived and after two solid days of Lysol-ing the house and bleaching toilets and towels and sheets – I was ready for the mental institution.

On Wednesday I went to work and was starting to feel better.

That was short-lived.

That night, Sam came home with a homework assignment to “write a biography about a parent.”

“I’ll wait for Dad,” Sam said matter-of-factly.

“Well Dad isn’t coming home until very late,” I answered, “I think you better do your story about me.”

He was not happy.

I can’t say I blame him.

Let’s face it. As Sam pointed out, Mr. Gaga could once throw a fastball at 90 mph.  I have nothing that is even remotely as cool as that.

During dinner we tossed around some information.

“So what should I say? She works at the mall?” he asked innocently, while simultaneously plummeting my soul and self-confidence into the toilet.

“I don’t work for the mall, love muffin, I work as a consultant for a company that requires me to go to different stores to offer my superior consulting skills.” I answered calmly.

“Um…yeah, I’m not putting that.” he answered with a laugh.

“Well would you rather people think I am just a mall worker? Like I work at the LEGO Store or Taco Bell?” I demanded.

“Oh yes! Can I put that?” he asked earnestly.

“NO!” I screeched.

“How about if you say I am a blogger and people read my blog all across the world?” I said proudly.

“No Mom, nobody even knows or cares about a blog.” he said matter-of-factly.

There was no convincing him that his mother had done anything important or had anything important to offer.  It was devastating.

drugaddict

I was dejected.

He was right after all.  If I died tomorrow – what would my obituary say?

“What if our obituary just says we are a wife and a mother?” I asked my best friend desperately the next morning.

“That’s ok – we are making them good people…and I just know that they have a good dinner everyday and that when they go to bed at night their sheets are clean and they smell fresh.” she said simply.

That’s just not enough for me.

In the end, I spiraled into a deep depression when the best fact of Sam’s entire biography was about food.

pasta

Why can’t this make me happy?

I wish this was enough for me to feel good about, but delicious macaroni and clean sheets cannot possibly be why I was put on this earth.

At the end of the story, Sam, sensing my despair, added a note.

sentiment

Am I just the worst mother?

Even though that helped to lessen the blow – I am still not satisfied with my place in the world.

Why can’t making pasta and being a good mother suffice?

I failed at being a wife and a mother and a productive member of society this week…

It can only go up from here!

Thankfully, I have the ability to drink wine and imagine myself to be quite spectacular during those shiraz-soaked moments…

I am actually Mrs. America......
I am actually Mrs. America……

WELL THE FACTS ARE WHAT THEY ARE – AND ONE THING I KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT I AM THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA SO PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO CONFIRM MY DELUSIONS…XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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10 thoughts on “Failing at Wife and Life

  1. Don’t try to steal my title of “worst mother…ever”. Great post. We all have those weeks and I am with you being mother lady isn’t enough for me either. In my case I feel as though I’m destined to never be satisfied. I left my job so I could be home with my 3 boys. Being home hasn’t changed the fact that I’m still a terrible housekeeper, still yell all the time, still rush to make dinner & still spend like I’m bringing home a salary. Sigh. To add insult to injury, my son asks why he can’t go to after care at school anymore & talks about how he liked it when I wasn’t “retired”.

    1. Okay this is going up there on my list of best comments ever…I know the grass is always greener and if i was working at some high-powered job I would be wishing I was home making macaroni for my boys…Thanks for the pep talk!!!!

  2. You really should not be made to feel so horribly because Mr G had to leave a meeting at work to pick up his sick child. (Mind you I have a serious disdain for “meetings”. I think they are an excuse to get out of doing work while the minions do everything)
    “Drive through hot lava…just get home”
    Mr G ‘s most important business is fatherhood …Bread winner or not.
    My father won the bread, picked me up from dance and cheer leading, helped me with homework and read with me before bed and never once had to be asked to do so and definitely never made my mother feel bad about doing it. Not if he wanted to have dinner and not sleep on the couch.

  3. Maybe you just need to poop. Every mother’s answer to a bad tummy, and half the time it’s true. Stop beating yourself up. You couldn’t predict that he would be puking his guts out within the hour. You took some much needed time for yourself so that you could be a better mom and wife and productive worker. Mr. Gaga will get over his snit that he was inconvenienced by “life”. He and the kids know that you’re a great mom. So what if you didn’t invent something or have some high-powered executive job or save all of mankind by coming up with a new vaccine. You’re uniquely you, and that’s why they love you.

  4. OMG. I really needed this to read this morning; feeling like garbage myself, sicker than a dog, and still worried about everyone else around me and not dropping the ball.

    We had this happen at our house too, I work midnights and get home at 8:30 am (work 7pm-7:30 am) and I had cereal and went to bed around 9:00 am. Heard the house phone ring, maybe twice, but no message, and I had turned my cell phone to silent and charging on the kitchen counter. Woke up in a panic at noon when I heard doors opening and closing, and the garage door going up….my son was sick at school and they kept calling, but I was sleeping, so my husband had to leave work and go get him to bring him home. He was not upset with me (very much) but did mention that maybe from now on, I sleep with my phone right next to me in case the school needs to get in touch. I agreed, but then thought, “I wonder if he would sleep with his phone next to him overnight and answer calls and texts whenever someone needs him?” Probably not.

    It’s a mom guilt thing. You’re not a terrible mom Lady Gaga, you’re real. :) And a great wife and mom.

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