The adult things I do 

Every morning I have this same talk with myself, this inner dialogue, a Jillian Michaels who is more caring but firm like she stopped yelling at people and started drinking decaf, like every villain in Hallmark Christmas movies who realizes her shortcomings and helps with the tree lighting ceremony she had been rallying against, this is the female voice who leads me through the adult things I have to do: 

Mona, you have to get up. I know it’s so nice in this bed, so warm under these blankets, so quiet because everyone is asleep, but you have to get up. You have to make breakfast. You have to make lunch. You have to put on clothes. You have to drag a comb across your head and lift other appropriate Beatles lyrics. You have to look like a human. You can do this.

Yesterday, I just wanted to sit on my couch and watch the rest of Master of None (WATCH IT) but the boys wanted to watch a movie and my mom wanted to go to the mall to buy a scarf. I was wearing worn out yoga pants, the ones I slip into when I know the only strenuous thing I will be doing will be lumbering from the couch to the fridge and maybe kneeling to look under the couch because my kids can’t find the remote again.

But when my mom’s ready to go, she’s ready to go, especially when shopping is on the agenda. She won’t wait for me to put on real pants or throw some powder on my face, she will walk out the door, stand outside the car like I had sent her to some Game of Thrones ice caves because I wanted five minutes to fill in my eyebrows.

So we went to the mall and the boys loved The Peanuts Movie, my mom loved a scarf and we ate Japanese crepes. Later that night, I somehow had the energy to take my oldest to a skating rink for family skate night and watched this human I had birthed propel himself on wheels, laugh and raise his hands in the air when his song came on and listened to him say, “You’re really the greatest mother. Evah.” 

This was only after I had paid for our skate rentals, plus a drink plus arcade games plus I didn’t weep openly when he skated away from me on the floor even though he said, “I love mother-son bonding time.”

Maybe the adult things I have to do aren’t so bad when the payoff is food and compliments. My inner voice can handle that.

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