Wednesday, May 30, 2007


My mother in law is coming to stay for two nights while she does some work in the city my husband I live in. So my husband looks at me and asks "What are you doing tomorrow...anything?" How cute of him to ask. But of course, I'm not doing anything. He just wanted to know if I would be here when my MIL stops by after she's finished working. Of course I'll be here. I'm always here.

Do you see that house? The one in the cute neighborhood with the great landscaping. The one that always has the grass cut just right. The one that always has the cute seasonal wreath on the front door...the one that always has the best wind chimes and whatnots swaying in the wind as they hang carefree from the porch. That's not my house. My house is the one that keeps getting notices sent to it from the homeowners association because it needs to be "edged." My house is the one with all the grass in the flowerbed...or at least that's what the homeowners association calls it. Flowerbed. Wow, I didn't realize I had one of those, but I'd like to thank the HOA manager for thinking I'm ambitious enough to have one. And yes, we got a notice about the grass too. We also got a notice for the satellite dish that's on the side of the house instead of the back. I won that battle. I called the HOA and the manager's little secretary returned my call saying they were revoking that notice because they'd sent many of them out and gotten negative responses....I'll show them negative responses! And anyway, so it goes that I have no wind chimes or whatnots swaying in the wind. Even if I did, they wouldn't be swaying carefree. But I still have that house. The one in suburbia. The one in the newly developed neighborhood that my husband and I had such high naive hopes for. That house with the all the grass in the flowerbed is the place I call home.

June Cleaver was never someone I would have aspired to be. She's still not. Before I met my husband I was more of a Bettie Page kinda' girl. I was that aspiring non conformist. I'm sure my tract home and semi preppy mom wardrobe account for that past life now. I am a stay at home mom...but randomly. It wasn't planned; neither the pregnancy, nor the stay at home-ness. I wasn't on birth control and I got pregnant before our wedding. I went back to work after maternity leave, only to get fired less than 90 days later. I'm no June Cleaver...but who really wants to be? I'm happy with what I have now. Even Bettie Page reformed.

So I'm here. I'm always here. This. Is. Where. I'm. Supposed. To. Be.

Random acts of motherhood.