And Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Program aka "Momza's Home"

Well, after working and working on staging someone else's house,
for the past several days,
I had to come home to what used to look alot like my own house.

I recognized the house from the street,
pulled up into the driveway
parked on the Left side like I always do
and walked up to the front door
that I am sure is mine.

But that's where things got fuzzy.
My front room is hidden...
I cannot see my sage green couch
or my floral wingback
or the piano bench
that is usually in plain sight.

No,
what I see are piles of things
clothing
book bags
papers
shoes
and other non-front-room items
strewn about
as though there is no Mother
living in this house.

I glance at the dining table
my sacred dining table--
I recognize that because it's always covered
in books
toys
a cup
a bowl
a leftover cheetos bag.
This is my house!

My eyes follow the kitchen counter
to the pantry door
wide-open like always.
I hate that.
They know how to open it
why can't they close it???
Why??
Someone made toast,
it looks like--
but didn't put the bread away
or the honey...
which is sticky and dripped on the toaster handle.
An amateur toaster-er was here.

A half-empty yogurt container,
spoon still in it
sits alone on the island--
waiting to be... what?--
eaten?
adopted?
tossed-out?
put away for another day?

I have to leave the kitchen--
"just walk away",
my survivor voice pipes in--
"just walk away."

But before I do,
I take out the spoon from the yogurt
toss it in the sink
trash the yogurt
and like a magnetic force,
my hands scan over the countertops for
random wrappers and bits of trash
and my foot taps the garbage can lever
while the collected bits are tossed into it.

I walk around the kitchen
gathering empty cups
the honey-spoon
and cheetos bowl
into the sink.
I'll have a helper come in
and wash them later.

My attention is drawn to the familyroom--
iCarly is on....
playing to an audience of
Zero.
Noone's even watching.
Is there a word for what I'm feeling??
What a waste--
energy
noise--
I dunno,
but I have to pilfer thru three blankets
on the sofa and loveseat
to find the remote
so I can turn it off.
Which triggers other thoughts--
why can't they watch TV without a blanket?
and
why can't they put away blankets once they're thru with them??
The blanket cabinet is literally 2 feet away from the TV!


Where are the motherless-culprits
who've pillaged my home
eaten my food
left their messes for unknown servants
to clean up afterwards??

I use my "mother voice"--
"Whose Home?" I yell.
Then I hear a small cheerful voice floating downstairs from the loft--
"MOMZA! You're Home!"
I glance up to see where it's coming from
and feel two arms reach around my middle
and squeeze me in...

I'm home.
To Cheetos on the diningtable,
abandoned yogurt,
Disney TV,
a sticky toaster,
laundry in the Visiting Teaching room,
and
little arms that missed me.

There's a small price I pay
when I invest my energy into other
non-Mom-related passions.
Whether it's home staging,
or midwifery,
my absence in the home
is nearly always felt.
The anal-retentiveness of my youth
used to hold me hostage
to my Mom-role.
I didn't want to see what the house looked like
when I was absent from it.
But I grew up.
I had to.
I'm more than a Mother-
and my other interests and talents
make me a happier Momza.
So if the price I pay for that
is a sticky toaster
and half-eaten yogurt
or a few odds and ends strewn about,
it's worth the cost.

It's good to be back...
even if there's no cabana boy and lemonade waiting.