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Bitch I'm fabulous
Oct. 6th, 2011 09:24 pmI feel pretty good about everything, mostly myself. When I get scolded for not doing something well instead of getting despressed it makes me want to immediately prove I can do better. I didn't expect that.
Today for instance, I did awesome. I let the kids watch television while I ironed their clothes without being asked, then I sent them to do their homework while I colored with the littlest (he drew me a picture of "my friend Mozart"), then I gave the littlest his bath with no tears and rough-housed with him while he got dressed. The other two joined in and soon they were desperately trying to convince me to play with them instead of fixing dinner. That culminated in all three of them battling me while I tried to get to the door. It took me fifteen to get myself downstairs, especially since they all ended up clinging to my legs and I had to alternate between dragging them across the floor and tickling them to get a chance to step forward. Then they finally released me once I had gotten to the kitchen without killing them (try dragging three children down a spiral staircase with nothing but the muscles of your calves) and then I fixed a dinner that was completely chosen by me. Usually I either panic or wait for the mom to give me instructions. I got the kids to the table and we were chatting about some song the oldest had learned in school when their dad got home.
And instead of commenting on anything positive, he told me there was laundry outside that had fallen to the ground. I was so proud of myself for ironing without being asked, and then it turns out that not only was that what was expected, but it was LESS than what was expected. I was a little disappointed but instead of getting disenheartened I just made a mental note. I can do that too. I can do all of this. I can be a better au pair than the girl from last year. I always have to hear about her--oh, she was so outgoing, her French was great, she was so good with the kids, blah blah. My French might not be as good as hers, but it's still better than ALL the other girls with the agency. Believe me. I might not be outgoing, but I'm determined. And you know what? I'm AWESOME with the kids, so suck on that. They'll see.
Meanwhile, tumblr and the Frenchman and Kelley have done wonders for my self-esteem. I don't hide from my reflection in the mirror anymore, I don't limit myself to clothes that hide my body shape... the lights around my bathroom mirror are super flattering; this morning my appearance pleased me so much that I did a happy dance. And I'm wearing a tight stripes-around sweater that practically accents my gut. Who cares? I choose sugary food and temporary happiness. As long as my clothes don't stop fitting, I'm fine. Every time I go out I get catcalls. It might be going to my head. But I love it.
I found a sticker when I was helping Mimi clean her room yesterday that says "I'M in charge." I stuck it to my mirror, right in the middle, and I force myself to believe it in the mornings. I'm tired of feeling apologetic for entering a room and shuffling around in corners. It's time for me to feel like a badass, and permanently this time.
Today for instance, I did awesome. I let the kids watch television while I ironed their clothes without being asked, then I sent them to do their homework while I colored with the littlest (he drew me a picture of "my friend Mozart"), then I gave the littlest his bath with no tears and rough-housed with him while he got dressed. The other two joined in and soon they were desperately trying to convince me to play with them instead of fixing dinner. That culminated in all three of them battling me while I tried to get to the door. It took me fifteen to get myself downstairs, especially since they all ended up clinging to my legs and I had to alternate between dragging them across the floor and tickling them to get a chance to step forward. Then they finally released me once I had gotten to the kitchen without killing them (try dragging three children down a spiral staircase with nothing but the muscles of your calves) and then I fixed a dinner that was completely chosen by me. Usually I either panic or wait for the mom to give me instructions. I got the kids to the table and we were chatting about some song the oldest had learned in school when their dad got home.
And instead of commenting on anything positive, he told me there was laundry outside that had fallen to the ground. I was so proud of myself for ironing without being asked, and then it turns out that not only was that what was expected, but it was LESS than what was expected. I was a little disappointed but instead of getting disenheartened I just made a mental note. I can do that too. I can do all of this. I can be a better au pair than the girl from last year. I always have to hear about her--oh, she was so outgoing, her French was great, she was so good with the kids, blah blah. My French might not be as good as hers, but it's still better than ALL the other girls with the agency. Believe me. I might not be outgoing, but I'm determined. And you know what? I'm AWESOME with the kids, so suck on that. They'll see.
Meanwhile, tumblr and the Frenchman and Kelley have done wonders for my self-esteem. I don't hide from my reflection in the mirror anymore, I don't limit myself to clothes that hide my body shape... the lights around my bathroom mirror are super flattering; this morning my appearance pleased me so much that I did a happy dance. And I'm wearing a tight stripes-around sweater that practically accents my gut. Who cares? I choose sugary food and temporary happiness. As long as my clothes don't stop fitting, I'm fine. Every time I go out I get catcalls. It might be going to my head. But I love it.
I found a sticker when I was helping Mimi clean her room yesterday that says "I'M in charge." I stuck it to my mirror, right in the middle, and I force myself to believe it in the mornings. I'm tired of feeling apologetic for entering a room and shuffling around in corners. It's time for me to feel like a badass, and permanently this time.
