By Leslie Lindsay
Each day, I set out with a list in hand. One that contains the chores, the kid-related stuff, the things I want to do (whatever) and the things that “gotta get done.” Today’s list included such items as:
- Wash the pee-pee bedding from last night (Kid #2’s, not mine)
- Load/run/unload DW (that’s dishwasher)
- Kid #1 to camp
- Kid #2 to pool
- Find sitter for the 5th
- Schedule appt for kid #1
- Pack for trip
- Write a book
Am I wallowing? Not really. Okay, maybe a little. But, you see…this is a typical list for me. Nope, I’m not manic. I am perfectly sane, I just have lots to do and less time to do it all.
No where on this list does it mention how I have intervened with at least three sibling bicker-fests, mopped up water from the kitchen floor when my 4-year-old decided to “give the grapes a bath” in a small bowl filled with water, or how many tiny ants I killed, leaving a burial ground on my ceramic tile. No where on the list did I write, “wake at 6:32am to two children screaming because the satellite wasn’t picking up a signal on the television.” And, I did not write, “Allow kid #1 to hold to my leg tightly as I try to pack 3 lunches.” No.
You see, the entire list pretty much revolves around me being a
slave river to my family. But no one cares. I am ready to run off and have a fuge state. Who cares if the get-a-way mobile is a Goldfish-encrusted-library-book-minivan-with-two-booster-seats. I am done!
And that is what is in my brain today, Thursday June 30th 2011.