The Pressure of a Good Day
The spring has sprung — the imposing need to spend time outside is real.
The birds are chirpier than usual today.
So I look outside and find the sky is cerulean blue and quite unusually clear — where are those infamous chemtrails, err… I mean contrails (whatever floats your boat) which tend to disperse all over the sky as soon as the weather Gods predict a sunny forecast?
I make what I realise will be a gross mistake of looking out the window.
The sight that catches the eye is one of a mom with a resting smiley face out on a lovely walk with her three kids. The oldest one — a boy no more than five — is merrily peddling on his utmost-boyish bicycle; the middle one — probably three — is giggling about something while she rides zigzag on her pink unicorn scooter; and the third one — the dot, is fast asleep perfectly tucked in a sturdy but cosy newborn pram.
Oh, wait a minute — a cute little furry dog with his furry little waggly tail has now appeared in my peripheral vision.
Mother fathers! This supermom is triggering the fuck out of the strictly mediocre mom in me!
Scowling with a swift move, I turn my head in the other direction — swifter than the herniated disc in my neck would allow, ouch!
My eyes fall upon a senior couple who appear to be in their eighties, wearing a perfectly ironed linen outfit all nice and matching in off-white — the man seen sporting classic aviator sunglasses, the lady in an elegant-looking straw hat that seems hand-woven and made from organic materials.
Exchanging pleasantries, most likely chatting about the marvels of being outside on this beautiful day.
Then there’s this bunch of kids dressed in their fun summer outfits (as if it is already summer!) chasing each other on wheels — bicycles, scooters, skateboards and rollerblades — you name it, it’s all out.
I pick up my phone to check the weather. The application says it’s seventeen degrees celsius, but on a bright sunny day like this, one feels like twenty-five.
Wasn’t it all rainy, grim and grey less than twenty-four hours ago? The world has turned upside down overnight. What the heck!
Feeling like a piece of shit, I pull down the window blinds because at this point it is all getting too much — the sun is blaring right on my face, and I surely don’t want to be wearing sunscreen indoors. Oh wait a minute, do I even use sunscreen otherwise? Thanks, no thanks cancer.
Besides, even my houseplants do not tolerate direct sunlight.
In a peculiarly slouching gait, I head back to the couch.
All I want to do is to be left alone in my zen: indulge in simpler things of life like sipping a hot cup of coffee (yes, and not a cold glass of lemonade or whatever, it’s not that hot) and sit down with the book I have intently been savouring over the last two months — which, I have now pledged to knock off in the next couple of hours. And after that, get some more work done. Yep, the plan is all set!
I put on my favourite black hoodie — why thank you, it still feels like a solid thirteen degrees celsius whilst I am seated on my fake leather couch — cold enough for my expatriate tropical butt!
As for my toddlers, I have unleashed a hidden box of toys only to be used during desperate times like these — or else these little scoundrels will not quit badgering me about wanting to go out.
Yeah, it doesn’t work… they do just that anyway.
Look mummy, it’s nice and sunny outside, let us go for a “litte’n” walk — tells my almost-four-year-old smartypants, followed by an ecstatic voice that cries, “shuuuny, shuuuuuny…”
My recently turned two-year-old suddenly happens to speak all the words in the dictionary!
These goblins won’t stop whining. I cave in.
They need to go out, I get it. But so do I need to be enjoying shorts and jumper weather staying in. Especially when I am bleeding heavier during my ovulation days than on my actual period — what’s going on with that?
Ignoring the kids for a second, as a coping mechanism reflex — I open Instagram. Huge mistake. The first story that pops up is a picture of a friend out and about on a picnic by the lake with a caption that reads “beautiful day ” — *insert smiley sun emoji.*
Even the contents spread on her picnic blanket look aesthetically pleasing. Bugger off!
In an aggressive gesture, I throw away my iPhone… but it gently lands in my pocket.
With their pleading eyes, I now find my kids in tow.
I am being mom guilt-tripped.
OKAY, you win, squishy little bumholes!
Wincing, grunting, my head throbbing with irritation, the body feeling peak resistance — somehow, I manage to get myself and the kids ready.
The decision has been made. Like an old grumps, I am gunna reject having any fun at all — at least for the first fifteen minutes.
But… I feel great once I start getting roasted by the perfectly warm sun.
Soon after, life makes me forget holding onto my grumpiness altogether — as I now have to put on my motherhood hat, get off my arse that just about found its perfect balance on this stupid rickety bench — and set off to chase my two-year-old running at a mouse’s speed towards a playground roundabout circling faster than the tumbling of your old washing machine.
Yeah, fuck nice weather!