I recently went on a ‘mommy strike’ and have been sharing my experiences about it in a ‘logbook’ type fashion on Facebook. Much to my surprise, the response has been overwhelming and I have been asked to share it more publicly. So here it is…my very own blog.
Please feel free to share:) I have a feeling I am not the only crazy working mother out there!!
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
A Blog Post About a Blog Post
Spring sports are in full swing and I barely have time for a
glass of wine. I know it’s not Monday, but work with me here.
It was ‘I Get a Day Off From Writing and Feeling Pressure
to be Funny and Get to Laugh at Your Stories and Share Some Blog Love Monday’.
But nothing was posted.
because I am afraid. Very afraid.
This week’s guest post is from Dylan. My love. My life
partner. The father of my children. The only man that has ever kept me on my
toes. Ok, I am totally sucking up because I think it has potential to be an
expose worthy for Perez Hilton.
Well, simmer down. In true Dylan fashion he is not done yet.
Not done yet, just like the gate to the fence that took
three weekends in a row to complete. Yes, just the gate part. After three
wasted weekends, four fence kits and eight full-grown-man temper tantrums, I finally
bribed a neighbor to wander over with a beer and subtly ask Dylan if “he needed
Not done yet, just like the shelves in my garage. FYI there are
no shelves. Shit is just piled on the floor. I’m running out of room for
Not done yet, just like the broken closet doors from the trolls
bedrooms. They still sit against a wall in the storage room. The storage room that
is also shelf-less.
Not done yet, just like the guitar he is going to learn how to
play. That he bought a stand AND a travel case for. It is also in the storage
room. I think it’s under the broken closet doors. One day he will travel the
world, performing at sold out concerts. Whew, good thing he has a travel bagel eh?
sure will come in handy…one day.
After 14 years together I have learned that Dylan
“sometimes” procrastinates and is always late. He comes by it honestly; it is in
his genes. His parents couldn’t decide on a name for him…FOR TWO FREAKING
MONTHS!!!! His nickname was Sue for the first 60 days of his life. They didn’t
register him with the government until he was 5 years old. I shit you not; he
didn’t actually exist until he needed to go to school!!
His brothers were over an hour late for our wedding (and
they had the rings) because they made a wrong turn and forgot to write down the
name and address of the Church. No one had cell phones, so we prayed and waited
as I held down vomit. Dylan was cool as a cucumber. Asshole. In hindsight I was
18 weeks pregnant…so perhaps that explains the barfy bit.
Please remember how Type ‘A’ I am. I love lists. I love completing
a task to give myself a gold star and check mark. If I am not 15 minutes early
for anything and everything, you mine as well assume me dead on the side of the
If Dylan is early to anything, people applause and give him
a standing ovation.
God clearly has a sense of humour.
Dylan has taught me to relax. He gives me balance.
Although our relationship hit the fastback as his boys are Olympic swimmers and
my eggs are greedy over-achievers, I knew from the first moment I met him he
was the one. I know that sounds cheesy,
but other boyfriends were met with a fate worse than death if they so much as
blinked funny. With Dylan, I wanted to figure out a way to live with the quirks
and chronic lateness.
Perhaps my inaugural lesson for being late was…well, being 'late'.
Well played Dylan, well played.
His blog post is coming. Be patient. If I can learn to be,
so can you.
By the way, I peaked at what he is writing. The control freak
in me will be editing. I promise I won’t touch the juicy stuff, just the grammar
and sentence structure. He is an amazing storyteller, but when ones first
written language is French, one clearly needs some help in this department.
Be warned Dylan: Although you may think you can get a laugh
by telling the world what its like to live with me. The people that laugh
cannot withhold what I can.