I have strayed pretty far, both here and in real life journaling, which degenerates pretty quickly into a junior high angst fest if I don't watch my step.
I am prone to melancholy, no doubt, and melodrama and perhaps even high drama, given half a chance.
I got through my open house with flying colors.
I was pleased with the general outcome, but also happy for a tiny bit of personal moxie.
This parenting gig has drained a lot of my former confidence, and like many a former beauty before me, I still have the arrogance, but little of the self confidence to push myself in social or professional circumstances.
I am constantly struggling for self definition, outside of being just a housewife, while at the same time asking myself why being just a housewife is not good enough?
There is nothing new here.
Not my story, not my quandry.
How many times has this old saw been played out, in the movies, on the page.
I have no big revelation,
nothing to add.
Some women can do it all.
Some women have to do it all.
Some women like to do it all.
I can barely do some of it, with grace.
I remember reading Norma Jean the termite queen, years ago, and being sympathetic, but not really able to get it.
I cannot tell you how many time I have thought about the scene, where her youngest child demands "daffodil" yogurt, since having my second child.
So, I stood in a roomful of my peers, today, with my colleague at my side, and gave some meaningful chat, information and speeches in my field of expertise. People said they loved our place. They took photos and asks serious questions. My colleague and I beamed at one another, because we pulled it off- we were awesome.
I then drove home in my Cheerios littered station wagon, was greeted by my relieved husband, removed my skirt & jacket, and served up some daffodil yogurt to my four year, who
" hates meetings, a lot".
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