Sometimes a mother has to have a nuclear meltdown. A complete manic freak attack. Just once in awhile. To remind her family that she has feelings. To remind her children that she’s not an automated fridgin Energizer Bunny that can go and go and go. And never get tired. Never get run down. Never stop.Yes, sometimes a mother has to have a meltdown.
I had one this morning. And it wasn’t pretty. Pleasant. Or nice.
I’m sick. I’ve been sick for the three days now with a flu virus that feels like elephants are stampeding up and down my body. Like there’s shards of glass stuck in my throat and rabid dogs are battling, trying to get out of my brain. The Hot Man goes to work at 5:30am. There are two teenagers living in this house. And three children who require assistance to get ready for school. So shoot me for dreaming, but I kind of thought that maybe, just this once, the two teenagers would get their butts in gear this morning and rally the troops. Maybe even bring me some juice in bed. Tell me, “Don’t you worry mum, just rest. We’ll take care of these kids and get them organized for school.”
Ha. I dont know where I got such a stupid idea from. Maybe my fever was making me delirious. From my
death bed I could hear a 3yr old plaintively asking somebody, anybody to get her some breakfast. Nobody paid any attention. I got up and staggered down the hallway, asked Teen One: I’m really sick, can you please feed that child and get everyone ready for school?
Back in my
death bed I heard Teen One, yell at Teen Two to feed the 3yrold. Then he hit the showers. Took up residence in front of the mirror. Got very busy with the hair gel and the pimple cream. Teen Two got up. Ignored the 3yr old who was now doing very messy things in the bathroom with the toilet brush and an entire roll of toilet paper. Teen Two got herself some cereal, sat down and started reading a book, oblivious to my hacking cough. Or the horrible state of the kitchen.
I staggered out again. And this time I was ready to self-combust. I could not believe that I really had raised such totally useless and selfish children. I deserved to be shot for adding such miserable human beings to an already miserable world. I screamed. Raged. Strange words came spewing from these lips, “What do I have to do to get some help around here? Do I have to cut my arm off before you actually care about me?! Oh I know, I need to cut YOUR arm off to make you pay attention to me…What’s wrong with you people!” Lots of F word *Flowers*Flowers* were mixed up in there too.
After my ranting and raving, I staggered back to my
death bed and burst into tears.
The results were magical. Teenagers sprang in to action, cleaning, packing lunchboxes, doing dishes. Small children brought me cold drinks and patted my hair, making soothing noises. Instantly, everyone in this house was concerned about me and my mental and physical state. Such concern continued throughout the day. People did laundry, brought me Diet Coke with ice (very important for curing the flu…)went out and did the grocery shopping. Nobody complained, whined or whinged. Everybody was nice to their deathly ill mother.
So, yeah, going mental and mean may not be very saintly. Or praiseworthy. But it certainly gets things done around here. So yes, I firmly advocate that once in a while, every mother should have a nuclear meltdown, a complete manic freak attack.
(Just don’t have them too often. Or else the impact will be lost. And you will also end up going to hell when you die a miserable flu-induced death, because you’ve been too awful to your children, too many times.)