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Read all about the adventures of the Tsao Family during the summer of 2012

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

 

Mothers are the dung beetles of the world

I was having a great conversation with a friend the other day, one of those conversations filled with agreement, vigorous shaking of the head, and lots of "Yes!" and "That's right!" shouted in glee. During our conversation she mentioned that being a mom was a lot like being a dung beetle and all I could say was, "Yes! That's right!"

All I know about dung beetles is what I remember from a documentary I once saw. Dung beetles spend inordinate amounts of time rolling poo into balls, giant balls as big as they are. They roll as if their lives depend upon it, which they do. They are dung beetles.

The comparison of a dung beetle to a mother is in the similarity of the workload. The mother of our species has a never ending yet monotonous list of chores to do over and over again on a daily basis: the picking up of the toys, the feeding of the baby (kids are always hungry!), the making of the meals, the washing of the dishes, the wiping of the butts, the cleaning of the clothes, the picking up of the toys, the picking up of the toys, the picking up of the toys... You get the picture.

Jeepers, grim lives we mothers lead. But I'm not here to moan and groan about my chore list. Oh no. I'm here to let the world know that I'm on strike. Yes! I can't be a dung beetle when I've got a new book to read. My grandmother always said, "the dusting can wait." Not that I ever dust, but I get her point. She was an avid reader and obviously knew what she was talking about.

So when I'm done with Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love I will return to my regularly scheduled programming of picking up toys and cooking dinner. In the meantime, my new motto is, "Let them eat Taxi's."