How are you?

I’m one of those people who usually answers with a “Fine” or “okay”.  Because the reality is usually I’m neither but I don’t think the person asking wants to REALLY KNOW HOW I AM at that specific moment.  Not because they’re a horrible person, but because they’re being polite and they really have their own problems to deal with.

How Am I?

I’m stressed because I’m the mother of a teenage son who struggles in school because he won’t turn in homework and lies about it constantly so he won’t get in trouble.  This son is handsome and tall and smart and thinks that smiling, pouring on the charm and telling me that he loves me will cure all ills. 

I’m frustrated because my almost-no-longer-a-teenager-yet-not-quite-chronologically-adult son who has a part-time job spends the rest of his time playing online games and ignoring his household responsibilities.  He’s hysterically funny and quick-witted and handsome but thinks that mumbling and avoiding what he’s been asked to do will make it all go away.

I’m guilty because I’m the wife of a hard working man who puts in 12 hour days (including commute) and volunteers for many other activities yet can’t seem to find the time to get my short-term jobs around the house done even though I nag him.  He’s handsome and funny and the man I fell in love with yet believes that I really don’t love him because I just can’t seem to want to rip his clothes off and have romance novel sex at the drop of a hat.

I’m sad because I’m the financial advisor, banker and accountant for a family that struggles like most with too many things to spend money on and not quite enough money to spend on it all.  There is always one more bill to pay, one more payment to juggle and one more check that I forgot I’d written and didn’t put down in the log.

I’m anxious because I’m the entertainment committee and need to be willing at a moment’s notice to go on a date, drive for ice cream, walk the dog, drive to the mall or manage the finances for vacation or camps or movies or dinners out.

I’m tired because I’m the gardener who has to figure out how to control the weeds and the moss, recognize when the lawns need to be mowed or watered (because it’s not obvious to the world that the grass needs a hair cut).  Plants need to be purchased and planted and watered and pruned and maintained and there’s no one else who remembers to do all this or has time to research what needs to be done.

I’m scatter-brained because I’m the chauffeur for the masses of children who I care for and whom I am responsible for getting to school and appointments and sports and events and play dates. 

I’m torn because I’m the receptionist who has to decide whether to let the machine answer the phone or get hung up on by the phone-robot who wants to sell me any number of things I don’t need, can’t afford or intend to purchase; or for the credit card that I no longer have or to locate the husband’s ex-wife whom he hasn’t been married to in over 20 years.

I’m exasperated because I’m the shopper, menu developer and chef for exacting “customers” who will only eat certain chicken nuggets (not home-made), chicken (not beef) Ramen noodles, and raw but not cooked carrots; spaghetti sauce with no chunks, no Alfredo sauce ever, or lasagna, thank you.  Steak and salmon and shrimp are fantastic; hot dogs are better than bratwurst and there should be no pulp in my orange juice.  Bacon, not sausage and no sourdough pancakes (although I’ll admit my husband is the breakfast chef and he is the recipient of the breakfast complaints unless I make breakfast for dinner).

I am disheartened because I am the occasion remember-er, the gift buyer and the card shopper; as well as the calendar keeper, gift wrapper and card signer and yet no one knows what to get me.

I am worn-out because I am the list maker and decider of when and how things get done. 

I am drained to be the one who takes the phone calls and emails from school, the doctor’s office and the coaches.

I am fed-up because I am the one who checks the online grade reports, sorts the mail, answers the emails and cleans out the lint trap in the dryer.

I am agitated to be the one who asks and asks and asks (and then, yes, finally SHOUTS) for things to be done, finished, completed, STARTED, cleaned-up, picked-up, wiped-up or put away.

I resentful because I am the one who feeds the dragon and the dog most of the time; and remembers (or notices again) when we’re almost out of food for the 10^th time.

I concerned because I can sing most of the PBS pre-school show-tunes at a moment’s notice but can’t remember the words to an entire top-40 song anymore.  I can tell you all of the Sesame Street characters, but can’t remember the names of all four Musketeers without looking it up (they’re Aramis, Porthos, Athos and d’Artagnan by the way).

I am irritated because I am the bad cop, the worry-wart, the complainer, the nagger, the one who’s never happy, the negative Nelly and the wet blanket.

I am nervous as a struggling business woman who is in charge of marketing, sales, delivery, production, finance and human resources for my company.

I am mystified to be the detective in charge of finding the lost bike lock, glasses, phone numbers, the origin of “that odor” and what the source of the science experiment in the refrigerator is.  I’m also supposed to remember what size shoes, pants, shirts and underwear all the men in my family wear.

I’m puzzled that I’m supposed to remember what my son’s favorite color is currently (because it changes) but conveniently forget that he said “I wuj you momma” or that he knew the name of every construction vehicle by the time he was three.

I’m bewildered because I’m not supposed to kiss them goodnight or say “I love you” publicly, but I’m expected to have ace bandages, Neosporin and advice ready at all times when they get hurt physically or emotionally.

I’m preoccupied with remembering different passwords for a gazillion different websites (that we’ve used once and only five email clients ago), as well as the name of my husband’s co-workers, wives, children and all the years and companies he’s worked for.

I’m the aggressive destroyer of dust-rhinos, the chaser of flies and spiders and wandering bees, the scraper of unknown substances, the cleaner of chairs and couches; the wiper of constantly running noses and changer of diapers. 

I’m the reluctant hoarder of photographs, videos, baby teeth and scrap book items.  I’m the collector of family history and memorabilia.  I’m the keeper of birth certificates and passports, insurance documents and tax records.

I’m so many other things that sometimes I can’t remember where I’m going or what I’m doing when I get in the car and drive somewhere.

Thanks for asking, I’m fine, thanks.  How are you?