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Calendars

For years, The Husband and I would buy three calendars. One for his office, one for my office (and after I quit working, my bag), and then one for the house.

His was usually something historical — antique maps, 1930s Paris, the NYC Public Library. There was one year when we waited too late and he got nothing but Boston Terriers, but that was unusual.For me, when I was working, it was usually something small — those “Blank-a-day” things: unusual words, Shakespeare quotes, spiritual koans. Then, once I was at home, I got a datebook that I kept in my bag and that was usually a bit more ecclectic since I didn’t have to worry about co-workers asking me questions about it: Eco-Logical, a Witch’s Almanac once. And then for the household, we usually got something that expressed our shared geekiness — Hubble telescope shots, National Geographic, or even a Buffy calendar once.

This year, for various reasons, we’re buying school-year calendars, the ones that start in September. And there’s a good chance that we will only buying two. The Husband will probably get his usual one. And I will get the same one I had last year: The Sandra Boynton Mom’s Calendar. I actually had an Eco-Logical calendar last year, but it just languished in a drawer — mostly I used the family calendar. We have a google calendar, too, that I maintain, but my main calendar  will be the Mom Calendar.

The implications are so staggeringly obvious and depressing that I feel like a dork spelling them out — I used to be a person, whole and seperate, and now I’ve been subsumed into my role as Mother.

But here’s the thing. The Husband wouldn’t mind in the least if we blew the extra $12 on a date book or calendar for me. He might suggest that we don’t, just to save the money, but it wouldn’t bother him if we did. Hell, I’m tempted to spend it to just maintain the fiction that my non-mom self still exists, under the sleep deprivation and extra pounds and board books. But I probably won’t use it. Like last year’s calendar, it will get scribbled in a few times, but then get stuck on a shelf and ignored. And of course it’s my own fault — I’m not blaming anyone else, I could use the damned thing. But I just don’t have the time or energy. So, my practical self says to save the money.

There’s something deeper to say here — about a society that forces women into this all-consuming role, about the lack of support we get, about stretching analogies so far that they snap under the strain of really awful prose — but I’ve got to go put little birdie stickers on my Mom calendar.

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Categories: motherhood
  1. C'tina
    August 20, 2007 at 1:02 am

    Think how many ‘bucks that would buy…..

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