The Iron Mom Chronicals -- Volume Three

By: Iron Wil

I don't know why I bother to vacuum on movie night, as it inevitably looks like a bunch of spider monkeys sneezed popcorn pieces everywhere by the time the credits roll. I mean, how hard is it to get the stuff from hand to face? I certainly don't find myself sitting in a body bubble of Orville Redenbacher by the end of the show, so what gives?

Ah, well I suppose it doesn't matter. It's after midnight now, and here I am, finally in a quiet house -- the occasional crunching of popcorn underfoot notwithstanding. No one is jumping all over anyone else, no one is asking me for the 87th time when we're supposed to be where tomorrow for the Superbowl party, no one is calling on the phone to either A) RSVP for our daughter's birthday bash, or B) Confirm the schedule * just. one. more. time.* Even the cats have taken a break from their usual running around the house in an apparent endeavor to break the sound barrier. This peace will last from now until about 7:00 in the morning, at which time all the technicolor crazy will begin again.


This late at night, you'd think I'd be exhausted from taking everyone to basketball, wrestling, and dance practice all week, from teaching and grading essays, from cooking, doing the laundry, grocery shopping, and oh yes, from vacuuming, but I'm not. I look forward to this window of time because no one needs anything, and I don't have to feel guilty about just sitting here doing something for me. When I finish writing, I may very well mosey on downstairs to my treadmill, flip on season one of Glee and run five miles or so.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but such is the life of an Iron mom, if not of most moms. Let me tell you, it would be impossible to handle it all if we needed more than four hours of sleep, but I've come to believe that nature allows for DNA reformatting in the event one is so busy that things would come to a screeching halt should she find herself debilitated, and thus, unable to manage everyone's lives. No, dear reader, moms are self-regenerating because we have to be, lest the world collapse into a black hole oblivion for all foreseeable eternity.

So, if you're a kid, go kiss your mother; if you're a husband, be sure to hug your wife, and if you're a mom like me, take a minute -- even if it's after midnight -- to write, run, reflect, and at least for a little while, revel in ruling the world.