Sunday, May 13, 2007

happy martyr's day

Funny how 'mother' is so close to that other word. I was recently called a martyr by someone on our PTA legislative listserv because I mentioned that as a teacher, I would prefer to see money spent on getting our schools updated and running well before I get a pay raise. Another person called me a gem (I like him), but I'm pretty sure the 'martyr' comment was not meant as a compliment. How could it be? I like the prospect of being burned at a stake? As much as I hate the cold, being set afire appeals less.

But if we go strictly by the definition of a martyr being one who suffers for a principle or cause, I suppose moms do fit (and dads too, I'm sure, no ranting e-mails please, men; we know, we really do). Sometimes, however, and I'm going to admit something very big so everybody get ready, I'm afraid we bring it on. Speaking for my own bad self, anyway, I get on a do-it-all-now track that can only end in a messy derailing. No wonder I love "Crazy Train" so much; it speaks to me. I should burn it on a continuous loop and play it while I wash 30 loads of laundry, sort piles of magazines (after cutting out 200 tiny interesting words for poetry class), make a grocery list to supplement our granola bars, rice mixes, and mushy apples, clean the litter box, sweep, dust, vacuum (is that the right order?), deliberately not answer the phone but listen to the message, sort papers from backpacks, check the mail, shred junk mail, gather overdue library books, pot flowers languishing on the porch, check e-mail, send Snopes links to erroneous alarming chain e-mails, read other blogs, labor over new blog, make tea, eat cookie dough, think about dinner, remember tea steeping on counter, change seasonal decor, sign up kids for soccer/acting/ swimming summer camps, reschedule dentist appointments, schedule pedicure, and treat a headache brought on by trying not to buy new things. I just wish I had a sweet fringed suit like Ozzy; that would make this all a little more fun, no? Randy Rhoads following me around in the background wouldn't hurt, either...