I've Become a Stepford Mom

So we've been sick now for nearly two weeks. I even went so far as to take
all SIXof us in for exams at the same time last Saturday. Cost me 100 LE
just for the exams and another 125 LE for all the meds afterward. And of
course, when it comes to MY prescription, it's for (drumroll please?) an
antidepressant medication. I've managed being a mother for 14+ years and
never had to take more than my daily handful of acetaminophen due to the
noise levels. But apparently this really wicked case of "prickly heat" I've had
for nearly 3 months is ACTUALLY a stress-induced case of hives. And if
I'd not been depressed before he wrote my prescription, I totally am now.
And yes, while it's always up to me whether or not I actually fill a prescription,
the pokey, itchy, red and disgusting bumps all over my chest, neck, shoulders,
and left cheek won the argument with the obstinate part of my brain that wants
me to be SuperMutha and do this whole teenage thing sans drugs. And I filled
that bad boy!

I've been on them now for 6 days. And ya know what? Not that much has
changed. Am I any less stressed? No. Am I still having fantasies of duct-taping
my kids to the ceiling, cleaning up the entire house and then enjoying the quiet,
clean, argument-free fruits of my labor while they watch from above for a whole
24 hours??? You betcha. The only difference is I'm enjoying the fantasies more
and sleeping at night...and the red bumps are starting to fade. Oh, and I just don't
give a hoot anymore if the boys pummel the crap out of one another. I've gone back
to the old, "Boys! If you don't stop hitting and start using your words, REAL words,
to solve your problems, you're going to lose your computer priveleges!" It's not really
working any more than it ever did in the past but ya know what? I'm not stressed or
depressed over it anymore. How cool is that? I'm not crying on the floor in the fetal
position wailing about what a failure I am as a mother. It's actually quite liberating, this
whole chemical dependency thing. I think I'll buy a petticoat and a beehive wig. I may
as well look the part, right?

My Fantasy Life Has Been Interrupted by My Kids

I'm lying on a big comfortable king-sized bed, wearing pretty pajamas with no
food stains or holes in them, and my hair is clean and there's no one banging on
the bedroom door screaming, "MOM!!!!" I'm sleeping...actual r.e.m....and no
alarms and no telephones and no dreams of any kind........and......
BLAMMO! Someone slams into the bedroom door with his shoulder to open it,
because, you know...those damn door handles...well, they're just a decorative
option. "Hunh?...get the glue out of the cupboard...I'll make dinner...huh? What?"
I sit up in bed.
"Mom! Ismail won't give Randa the remote control back and he's not even
watching t.v.!" whines Samiya.
"That is NOT true. I turned the t.v. on an hour ago and so it's my turn to have
the remote!" shouts Ismail from the living room.
"REMOTE! I LOVE YOU, REMOTE! T.V.! REMOTE! STUPID ISMAIL! CALL THE
POLICE! ISMAIL'S JAIL!" screams Randa from behind her tear-stained face with
stripes of skin where her eyebrows once were as she plucked vertical stripes
when she found my tweezers sometime last night.
I crawl back under the sheet and pull the pillow over my face. Will death not
come quicker than this? Why now? I just went to bed at 6am. What time is it?
My mind is a tornado of questions that 30 seconds ago didn't exist. "What was
I dreaming about?" I wonder. The shouts are getting louder and the mother's
intuition is starting to kick in. I throw back the sheet and sit up, place my
glasses on my face so that I can find the bathroom without crashing into
furniture and shove my feet into my slippers. With very old, fat, and exhausted
cat-like reflexes I throw a hand up to catch the fist of Ismail that is about to
pound down on Samiya's head as he shouts, "TATTLE-TALE!" I spin him about
and shove him toward his room.
"Back to your room, Mister! And don't come out until I call you!" I continue
shuffling to the bathroom. "And don't throw anything out of the room at her."
I hug Randa to calm her down. "And don't call her nasty names from in there
either!" I yell out as an afterthought. "Samiya. You're grounded from talking
at all for the next 20 minutes because you tattled and minded their business
instead of your own."
"But I...." she starts. She gets the morning stink eye from me. She takes a big
huffy breath and stomps off to her room and slams the door at me. Whatever.
I think about how much my fantasies have changed over the years as I brush
my teeth with the door locked and use my "maternal noise-cloaking device"
(M.N.C.D.) deep in my brain to tune out the fight that has begun between
Ismail and Hamo in their bedroom.
I used to fantasize about my husband and me running hand in hand on the
beach or being wealthy jetsetters, not to mention the sexual fantasies. Now I
fantasize about clean, hole-free pajamas and napping without interruption!!?
What the hell happened to me?
The M.N.C.D. is starting to jam due to piercing screams and four-letter words
being yelled by the boy in the headlock and crazy, macho self assurances are
being shouted by the one clutching the owner of the foul mouth, "YEAH!
WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW? I'M THE TOUGH GUY. NOT YOU! I'M THE MAN."
I spit and rinse and run my fingers through my graying hair (time for a touch up)
and take a deep breath before going to pry apart the warring teenage factions
and face the reality of my life: Motherhood sucks sometimes.