"I Just Don't Feel Like Doing It"
This is what I told my husband this morning when he woke up and joined me in our home office.
Last Saturday, we went to a hotel room by ourselves, a Holiday tradition we’re trying very hard to carry on despite COVID and the everyday demands of parenthood.
It had been almost two years since we’d spent time just the two of us and we already had to reschedule twice due to close contact with infected people. But at last, his sister and her younger daughter came to care for the girls and we headed to DC for our staycation.
The food was lovely, the drinks, overpriced but worth it, and the pillows squishy. We walked under the rain and by the White House. We ate sushi at the counter of a random restaurant on New York Ave, walked some more, and passed out from exhaustion by 8:45.
The next morning, we watched five episodes of 90 Day Fiancé on TLC (gotta love cable) and went back home to our babies.
But as soon as we stepped foot inside the house, all hell broke loose. The first thing Mike saw was Lou trying to reach something she wasn’t supposed to and had to intervene before even saying “Hi!”
Birdie began whining as soon as she saw me and, later on, fell down a full flight of stairs carrying her scooter (!!) from upstairs.
I went from mostly rested to utterly grumpy in a matter of 77 minutes.
At best, my mood became sharp. At worse, I was as brutal against myself as I was with my loved ones.
I’ll pass on the details of Birdie shrieking at 10 pm because her vulva itched and she wanted cream, a cruel awakening that ended with her in our bed howling at the moon for another twenty minutes before falling back asleep.
So, yes, this morning, I didn’t feel like doing it.
I was reminded of this scene in Mad Men after Betty and Don come back from Italy in the “When in Rome” episode. She’s wearing a colorful silk maxi dress purchased abroad, while making scrambled eggs for her rambunctious kids: a regular Monday morning.
Meanwhile, Don gets ready to leave for work, all handsome, and shall I say, free? When he reaches over to kiss her, she snaps. He doesn’t understand her sharpness, tells her they’ll go on a trip together again at some point, then leaves.
Now, I didn’t particularly like Betty’s character in Mad Men, but this scene hits me every time. Something about being reminded where your business lays: carrying the mental load, not having many escapes, and being occasionally praised for the invisible work we perform 24/7.
When I told my husband this morning that our preschool closes this Thursday until January 3, his answer was, “How do people do it?”
He meant other people. We both knew who is expected to take the lead in our household.
Because as Selah Rhodes reminded us last week in the interview we did together for the podcast, even when we are the breadwinner of our families, there is no real escape: we’ll always end up back in the kitchen fetching snacks, making scrambled eggs, and orchestrating our domestic lives.
It does not even matter if we bring the dough or have a supportive and equal partner. Some days, our only rebellious escapes are to wear a bold geometric dress in our dark New Jersey’s kitchen or to say at loud that we “just don’t feel like doing it”… bitterly aware that it’s not even an option.