Kerry: When the magic went away
I was arguing with my beloved the other day about time (my good, old, elusive friend time) and how when my beloved “gives” me time, I use it to clean, because I don’t want to live in a pigsty. But he’s right, it is my choice. And I threw out some comment about the bathrooms not magically cleaning themselves. Oh how I wish they did, but they don’t. Anyway, I got to thinking, playing around with that idea really, and wondered if my family would have any sympathy for me if the magic went away. Really, as usual I’m feeling under appreciated and overworked. But hey, for the first time ever, I got both babies to take naps in their beds at the same time…right now. Wonder if that has anything to do with my beloved not being here to help. (He’s working overtime this week for Christmas money.) So, here is a creative burp, a little piece of my cynical sarcasm come to life before my eyes.
When the magic went away
I had grown so accustomed to the little fellas taking care of things, imagine my shock and dismay when I found the letter of resignation folded neatly and taped to the bathroom mirror. “Dear mistress of the manor,” it began.
We are sorry for any inconvenience, but we feel stifled in our current position of scrubbing toilets and bathtubs. Lately we are feeling under appreciated for our efforts and feel the distant calling of the warm sun and the gentle surf. We have mutually decided to permanently vacation on the beaches of Mexico.
Good luck with the house.
Sincerely,
Ipsy, Twint, Spirap and Jaffer (Those are not our real names of course, but will do for these purposes.)
Hmmm…what business did four little house elves have sipping margaritas on the coast of Mexico? Didn’t I take care of them? I left out little goodies and saucers of milk which they claimed was their favorite. I hand stitched them little clothes in the latest elfin fashions. Now what would I do? I felt overwhelmed and dismayed.
Where could I find more magical elves? Was there some sort of directory? And, God forbid, what if the tiny ladies who folded all of the laundry and put it neatly away decided to follow their muses and head off to New York to become famous artists? This was out of control.
I sunk down to my knees and began to sob. Would the terrible turmoils of being a house wife and stay at home mom never end? I suppose there was still a bright side…somewhere. I still had the invisible nannies to rock the babies back to sleep in the middle of the night. Unless of course they deserted me too…to become groupies to some hot, young band who played only for the ears of invisible maidens.
When I signed on for this, nobody told me this could happen. I read the fine print in the contract for housewives and there was definitely nothing in there about desertion. Did the little buggers have a right to leave? I’d always assumed they’d be there to take care of things. What were my rights in all of this? Could I sue? Was there some kind of fairy tale lawyer I could call? Sure, in that same directory with the elves for hire. Right.
And my family wonders why I get so cranky.
Studio Mothers: Life & Art 