A friend posted on facebook the other day, "Do you ever feel like you're just going through the motions?" Um, hello, were you sitting inside my brain reading my thoughts? Yes, Yes, YES!!! Every stinkin' moment of my (seemingly) unfulfilled life!
I blame this all upon the media, really. Oh, and Hollywood. Bastards. There are glorious commercials showing soccer moms with their long, shiny hair getting the monogrammed cooler out of the back of the equally shiny SUV. The kids are perfectly dressed with monogrammed ribbons in their hair. Nobody's fighting, everyone is on time, and the bloody sun is shining. Not reality, peeps.
Here is how our soccer practice/games usually go. We can't find the gear, whether it's shin guards, the ball, or cleats. When everything is ready, I have to drive like Mario Andretti on meth because we're almost late and being late means running extra. I forgot to buy water and we can't find the damn water bottle. Brother is mad because he can or can't go. Whatever I need him to do, he wants to do the opposite. And if Baby Girl has to go, she screams like a wounded bat because there is no way I'm letting her out of her restraints, aka car seat. We tried that once, and she ran out on the field repeatedly. I was that parent.
In addition to my long, shiny hair and shiny SUV, I should also be doing yoga upon waking, preparing organic meals grown in my own garden, and composting to save the Earth. Speaking of saving, I should also be socking away money for three college educations while still paying for my own and also be able to leave my kids an inheritance large enough they can travel the world for summer vacations long after I'm dead and gone. Oh, I should make my bed every morning while the birds chirp outside my window and the rays of the sun pour through my window and dance across the bed. And I should be dressed in a very expensive nightie while doing this.
I should also belong to a book club and my kids need to belong to several extra-curricular academic clubs in addition to their competitive athletic activities. They will also need to play an instrument, preferably an obscure one. The more obscure, the better. Like the Glockenspiel. (Okay, I totally googled obscure musical instruments to find that, but it was featured on Jimi Hendrix's Little Wing.) Oh, and they need to speak another language. Actually more than two. Two is just for losers.
Somewhere along the way, I'm supposed to love and care for them and actually let them know I'm their mom and what it means to be a part of our family.
So, yes, I do feel like I'm going through the motions. The motions of laundry and scrubbing toilets and cleaning dishes and wiping noses and butts. I sleep and then get up to do it all over again. Some days, I *gasp* go out into public without washing my hair. I have been known to go to the grocery store in sweats...not fancy yoga pants, but real, honest-to-God sweat pants.
The motions are what makes our life our life. If we suddenly showed up spit-shined and polished, people would worry. My kids haven't seen a foreign country, but they've memorized every dip and divot of their grandparent's backyard. I don't read them stories every night, but my oldest and I play "I love you more than..." before bed. "I love you more than ice cream." "Well, I love you more than a snow day!" And so it goes...
The hokey pokey is a repetitive dance where one hand goes in, then out. Next hand, then a foot, then the other foot. If you're wild and crazy, you throw your head in there. And repeat until you fall over. That is life. The same craziness over and over, dancing a little ditty along the way, and repeating till you can't anymore. So, maybe the hokey pokey is what it's all about, not shiny, fake hair or blinged-out cars or competitions about who has the best/smartest/prettiest kid. I think I rather like the idea of the hokey pokey being the meaning to life. Rather much, indeed.