“Work at Home,” They Said

I sit to type this on a momentous day: the first Friday my newly-christened Kindergartener does not have school.

I spent half an hour typing that opening sentence.

Why? Why would it take so long to type ONE SENTENCE? For those who don’t have children at home right now -laying on your shoulder, touching your touchscreen laptop, eating toast onto your head, and whining, “What should I doooooo?”- you have no clue.

No, not even if you have a cat. Or cats.

cat.gif

Not that cats aren’t cute…

“Mom, guess what? Once, when I was playing Minecraft, Brother#1 made me go up a lava fall and I popped up under a villager’s house.”

Yes, my five-year-old literally just interrupted me to tell me that. Getting half a page typed before that isn’t bad; probably because he was eating toast. Yes, onto my head.

In my unicorns-and-going-to-the-bathroom-alone dreams, I keep thinking I can have it both ways: raise the kids AND work from home.

Like most people who live, breathe, eat, shower, and occasionally sleep; I need money to fund my lavish habits. We’re lucky that my husband has been the breadwinner for all the time we’ve had children. However; since we also have children who live, breathe, eat, sleep, and occasionally shower; I’ve picked up a side job here and there to help.

“Guess what a mothership is supposed to be? …A mother in a ship.”

Now we’re onto Starcraft 2, a computer game involving war in space.

*Sigh* Maybe we’ll have nap time today.

Maybe I’ll stay awake during it.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

The Magic Clothes Washing Machine

People have long joked that their washing machines lose socks. No matter how fastidious they are about tracking those little buggers, a black hole opens up somewhere along the laundry path and orphans many a sad pair. I can relate, of course, yet I can also compete.

My washing machine not only eats socks; it also eats underwear and sports uniforms AND uses the digested materials to create plastic fish, Nerf darts, a plastic witch finger, and (I kid you not) packets of condiments.

Laundry Crap
Just some of the items the clothes washer has created.

I’m not sure why or how I came to own such a gifted machine as this, though I did notice its magical properties exhibited after we had children.

…It’s probably coincidental.

Unlike a dog delivering the paper or a cat delivering mouse organs, I haven’t much use for the presents I find in the laundry. I also tend to worry about the objects’ effects on the clean clothes. The fish and Nerf darts and witch finger are usually well-behaved, but the mayonnaise and ketchup are not exactly fabric softeners.

And, I’m concerned about using something created from a process I can’t see. What if the washer’s methods involve lint and elastic waistbands?

As helpful and generous as the washing machine is, I would rather have the powers in reverse. Instead of my son’s karate pants becoming a beanbag frog, I could deposit mustard and hot sauce in return for a red and gold soccer uniform.

I’m sure I would at least get a pair of socks.

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This past week’s posts:
Sunday
, March 10: “Selfish Selflessness,” a post outlining the tough midpoint we mothers find ourselves in.

Monday, March 11: Wrote a poem titled, “The @#*&% Diet.”

Tuesday, March 12: Shared a quote by Erma Bombeck.

Wednesday, March 13: Plated a second dinner tip for y’all.

Thursday, March 14: “Dietary Air,” a snippet concerning dieting.

Friday, March 15: Lamented and advised against teenagers in “Why Oh Why Must We Have The Teenage Years?

Saturday, March 16: Shared Ramblin’ Mama’s tweet about making friends for your kids.

Sunday, March 17: Happy St. Patrick’s Day! That’s today!

 

Photo Credit:
unsplash-logoNik MacMillan

No, You Won’t Get Anything Done Today

I just love reading complaints from non-parents; things like, “My cat loves my keyboard so I can’t type,” or “I forgot to wash my jeans and had to go to work in my dressy pants lol.”

Cat

These three or four sentences took me an hour to write because my children can’t seem to breathe the same air without complaining about air-sharing. And I don’t own dressy pants or a clean pair of jeans for longer than five minutes.

Fight