I have a tendency to be a doormat. I’m a nice person, sometimes too much so. I love to be and do what the people around me need at any given time.

Thank heavens I come from a generation in which that quality is neither expected nor particularly admired – because if the giving and being and doing goes on too long, I begin to harbour secret resentments and frustrations. Then I go back and forth between feeling sorry for myself and wanting to stand up and holler. I eventually do the latter – usually over something petty and/or bizarrre – leaving the unlucky recipient of my sudden wrath both bewildered and hurt, and me feeling like a right proper ass.

Don’t get me wrong – I am loved. My needs are important to my family, and my husband will go any distance to meet them. Trick is, I don’t like to say what those needs are. I feel guilty asking for time to myself when I know the house is dirty and he’s tired and the kids are cranky and there’s laundry piling up in all the corners. As for any mother, there is always some little thing I could be doing, I’ll just do that and then I’ll sit down, but then Baby’s hungry, and I’m fine, it's okay, I’ll just put this laundry in…

FOR GOD’S SAKE WHY ARE THERE SO MANY TOYS IN THIS HOUSE I’LL BET THERE AREN’T THIS MANY TOYS IN ALL OF AFRICA!

Ahem.

So. Something for me to work on, and I suspect y’all are guilty of this too. So sometime this week, bat your eyelashes at the man who loves you, pass him the youngest child, and tell him you’re taking a bubblebath and then having a date with your keyboard. I’m going to.

Things I'm grateful for today:
The grocery stores are open Sundays now, so I can go buy a potroast for supper.
It's nice out, and Boy is getting some fresh air.
Baby's asleep, and I can have a quiet lunch - alone.