Time to Get a Job!

My husband is his own boss.  Why can't I be his boss?

En la playa con amigos.

Mondays- Beach.
Tuesdays- Park and Vitamin City.
Wednesdays- Play date at Gloria's.
Thursdays- Park, Library.
Fridays- Farmer's Market.

That's the kids. Then, there's the Cafe, my Husband, Womb Wellness clients, Doula clients, my collective of Indigenous healers, my family, friends, blog, a score of internet programs I'm enrolled in, and social networking sites (how'd that make it on this list?).

My husband and I had a "discussion" (I'm trying to use positive language) about how I need to focus on being more productive.  Trying not to take it personally (one of the Four Agreements), I agreed with him, and now find myself wading in a swamp of I-guess-I'm-disorganized-after-all.

Watching Zumba at our Farmer's Market

Sometimes, my husband is right. But he, and- forgive me for generalizing- most men, don't understand that raising children is the hardest work a human being can partake in.  So, yes, your majesty, I'll contribute more money, so you don't have to miss out on fun things, like building a plumbing system of sand, saltwater, and some pvc pipes... Or riding bikes to the farmer's market, and drive-by sampling freshly cut summer fruit.  It's all play, and no work in parenting!

I tell my clients, "Illness comes from excessiveness": too much stress; too little sleep; too much bitterness; not enough water, etc.  Well, I need to let go of the perfect mom fantasy I have going. I can't stay with them 24/7 and not go crazy, I can't let my husband bring in most of the cash, so I can ferment everything, cook from scratch, homeschool, and be super mom.  Most of all, I can't keep ignoring my husband's need to be around his boys.

There comes a time when a strong mujer must take what her husband says and actually value it.  It's a struggle being in a relationship with a man.  It's easier to take my anger out on male privilege instead of look at the bigger picture.  It's tough to ask myself if I smell the stench of  patriarchy in my kitchen- or whether it's my emotional baggage from internalized oppression.

As generations of colonialism plays Jedi mind tricks on me, and I struggle to figure all of this out, I express gratitude.  Thank you, Sherman, for your diligence. Thank you, Panquetzani, for being a skeptic.  Gracias, niños, for loving your parents unconditionally, while we get our act together.  No matter how life changing a "discussion" is, it's nice to remind myself that we both have our children in mind, that I rock, and my Hubbie is pretty okay, too. 

Visit to the Museum, in the kids' area.