I have started about 15 posts in as many days — only to have to put them aside because, let’s face it, I’m just a workaholic.
And the truth is … sometimes I’d like a 12-step program to help me cope with some of the grimble of this-here job of motherhood. (Is grimble even a word? I use it all the time, but when I Google it, weird stuff comes up. Really weird. But I’m sticking with it anyway.)
For weeks, I’ve been wading through baby sickness (still working through that one), my sickness, washing machine sickness, and just loads of stuff other than laundry. I dream about stealing moments of creativity, only to be foiled by all these obligations that just seem to pop up. (You know, like I’m obligated to feed my children, shower–at least occasionally–get out of bed, eat bon bons, blah, blah.)
Just when I want to wax poetic about some little nuance of my rich life, I can’t. ‘Cause it’s just THAT rich.
But now, at this bewitching hour, I am able to finally share my insightful observations of the day:
There isn’t a straight floor lamp in my house. (Why? No one seems to know.)
Lillian’s doorknob is covered with Rice Krispies. (Yes, stuck with marshmallow.)
My washing machine lumbers across the floor during its spin cycle (and yes, we’ve leveled it). I believe it (too) may be trying to escape.
The baby chooses to occupy himself by sticking his fingers down his throat until he pukes.
Henry’s baseball uniform looks like a creamsicle. (Excuse me, but white pants?)
And I have more self-control than even I imagined. When finally graduating to next in line at the pharmacy (after waiting 15 minutes before being called and another 15 as I listened to the lady in front of me insist she had refills for an antibiotic to cure some infection I’m sure I want no knowledge of), I find–to my dismay–my debit card is AWOL. My dear spouse took it to buy baby cereal at O-six-hundred. I have to go home, fetch it, then return only to wait endlessly for the pharmacist (who himself is now AWOL). And I handle all of this. Patiently. Kindly. I coped. I also added Ho-Hos, CVS buttered popcorn, little chocolate covered Hostess donuts and a couple packages of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups to the counter as I purchased round three of antibiotics for that sweet baby boy on auto-vomit. (By the way, I meant I had self control by not freaking out at anyone. Including my spouse. I’ll have to work on the snacks-within-reach-of-the-checkout thing.)