A House(work) at War

The kitchen floor detests my mop;
It’s been on strike all year.
The great room carpet, as you see,
Has developed vacuum fears.

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Meanwhile, the toilets, yellowed raw
Fear brush and boy alike;
While nearby sink and faucet friends
See sponge and yell out, “Yikes!”

The piles and piles (and piles) upstairs
Of clothes shy from my hand.
Our blankets, sheets, and pillowed beds
Won’t lay as I demand.

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And so, you see, oh dearest spouse
I’ve tried hard as hard can be.
One simply cannot fight a house
Nor law of entropy.

 

Photo Credit:
The Creative Exchange
Tracey Hocking

A Head Start on the Day?

After a few false starts and intentional ignorings of my alarm, I rose before the children needed to with the intent to get a head start on the day.

The idea sounded great last night -you know, during that time I looked over the laundry, paper bills and tax forms, dishes, laundry, to-do list, messy tables, dishes, incomplete homework, laundry, cluttered floors, dirty toilets, almost-sleeping children, and more laundry and dishes- and told myself that I could go to sleep and address it all tomorrow.

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An old picture, but somehow still applicable.

I neglected to recall how tired I am when I first rise.

So, yawning, here I sit, cursing my mental state, for not recalling that I’d need a day to fully wake. I can see why people drink coffee. I think. I’m actually not experiencing much clarity of thought yet.

True, I shouldn’t need much ‘clarity of thought’ to just do dishes or sort laundry. The problem with that is that I’ve pretty much run out of tricks. I’ve tried bribes, calm reasoning, yelling, and reverse psychology; but I just can’t convince myself to do the housework.

No matter what, I know two things: there will never be an end, and there will be more after that.

So, yawning, here I -oh, I already said that. Sorry; tired mom brain.

What’s a dead-brained mother to do? The toilets? Maybe after breakfast, I suppose. If nothing else gets done during this Magic Quiet Hour, I at least got some writing in.

And (don’t tell) some chocolate.

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Photo by Levi Bare on Unsplash

Say What?

Funny thing about motherhood is that you don’t really have to do much to join.

Compared to other job trainings I’ve been to, the requirements are a cinch. Basically, you have to have a uterus, about 15 minutes of free time, and someone willing and male to help with something you learned about in fifth grade.

That, or you can pay for the result of borrowing those qualities from someone else.

I’m lucky; or, as people would hashtag, am #blessed. I found a totally awesome guy at a young age, married at a young age, and have never had difficulty growing humans. The problem is simply that I’m a whiner.

One day, I returned to an old topic of thought: Why do I resent being a stay-at-home mother?

I was, of course, laying around in pajamas while my husband was working hard at his job. I haven’t worked outside the home since I first was pregnant. We live in a house. We have cars, food, health insurance, and mostly matching socks.

WHAT WAS MY PROBLEM?

That very question is the fire behind this blog. It’s the final sock down the toilet that got me to get off the couch and started writing. I hope, through the great deliberation of blog posts, to uncover The Answer.

I hope you enjoy the process, and that you contribute. I love other people’s input and advice.

After all, I can’t do everything around here.

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