A short time ago, the plumber needed to make a house call. Given that our domicile is only five years old, we’ve had (in my opinion) an inordinately large number of maintenance appointments. -And, none of the children has flushed worse than wet wipes (knock on wood).
Up until this visit, I’d had the house really clean if the plumber was coming. I knew that he would be able to see our least-cleaned areas: the master bedroom (the bathroom’s attached), and THE BASEMENT (where the plumbing-type stuff sleeps). But, we hadn’t had time to tidy up as usual for this occasion, because the problem was no hot water and that meant there were dishes all over and stinky children and I hadn’t showered so was in my excusable exercise clothes and everyone was running all over and I was a bit stressed about the whole situation.
The poor guy walked into the house after the children fought over opening the door, and undoubtedly saw all this. “I’m sorry, we …” I began.
I mentally heard myself finishing that sentence with the usual excuses. “-didn’t have time to clean.” “-haven’t washed since the hot water went out. Thank goodness you’re here!” and “-are fasting from personal hygiene for Lent.”
Instead, I said, “I’m sorry, we live here.”
(No, not, “I’m sorry we live here.” There was a pause.)
And so, I offer the same excuse for frequency of writing. I always have a goal of publishing posts in a somewhat-orderly fashion. At my main site, this is a daily routine until I hit a year. Over here, however, I was going to save them for when I felt snarky enough to pop something off.
Unfortunately, visitors, I forgot about a teensy little event called Summer Break.
Despite my bestish efforts, attempts to write anything with the children awake has been disastrous. They do that whole bother me every
five two one minute s thing. I snap at the cute interrupter, only to feel like the worst, psychologically-damaging parent for telling them my writing is more important than them sharing the plot of Captain Underpants with me (again), so I apologize and listen to their story, then I pull a few children apart from MMA-type events ….and it’s bedtime.
I may have just summarized the life of a stay at home parent.
So, I’m sorry for not writing about motherhood. I’ve been mothering.
I’ll squeeze in a few late-night postings here and there, but you just might have to wait till Free Daycare (aka school) begins again ’round September. It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.