Posted by Fitzy

I thought I was doing pretty well managing my new full-time work schedule.  I considered myself to be somewhat of a super woman, managing a new 45+ hour work week with some snuggles, some cleaning, some cooking, some laundry, some mail, some life admin, and some more of all that stuff we working moms manage to get through on a daily basis.  I was humming along, thinking that I was the coolest chick in town, when it happened.   The breakthrough.

We were finishing dinner one night last week, savoring the last bites of a slapped-together Boboli pizza with the sauce that comes right in the package and some old cheese that I had thrown on.  It was a disgrace compared to some of my best dinners, and not bad compared to others.  It was obvious what it was, though: a lazy attempt to please my family with takeout-y food that was cheaper than our favorite pizza place.  Imagine my surprise, then, when my beloved husband looked up from his plate and said with all of the honesty and eagerness in the world, “Fitz, that was AWESOME!”

Because the guy across the table from me wasn’t being snarky in the least, because he’s my biggest fan, I knew in that moment that I have been slipping, BIG TIME.  If a Boboli pizza is awesome, then the pile of clean fitted sheets that I can’t figure out how to fold after 34 fricking years must be good.  That means that our socks, blacknened by dirt on the kitchen floor after 3 wet-Swiffers in a row, must be okay.  And that the toothpaste-encrusted bathroom sink isn’t a total travesty.  This all adds up to standards that started at Saks and are now at Tuesday Morning.  It means, to my chagrin, that I’m not as together as I thought I was.

The question here is, how much do I care?  Sure, I wish I could do all of it – and it seems true that even with my husband’s significant contribution to cleaning and organizing, I can’t.  I can get my work done, mostly well.  I can love my family, to the best of my ability.  I can take care of myself, even if I’m last on the importance list right now.  I can scrape the house together well enough for a dinner party or a playdate.  Those things are just going to have to be enough, because I don’t have the time, the energy, or the desire to care more about the rest of it.  Someday my floors will be clean and I’ll channel the Barefoot Contessa on a regular basis.  Until then…there’s always Boboli.

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