The nitty-gritty of my perpetual excuses for NOT ever doing ANYTHING:
First, get the kids on the bus. Yes! There. I accomplished my thing for the day.
Second, prepare a list of all of my highest ambitions for the day, like folding seventeen loads of laundry and washing ALL (and seriously, even the dirty pots I hid in the oven) of the dishes (we don’t even have any clean forks.)
Third, eat cereal while watching my YouTube shows.
Fourth, go in garage and smoke cigarettes while watching my YouTube shows.
Fifth, slowly make my way to the couch. And here’s where all the Not Doing begins. Instead of folding the laundry, I lay down on top of it and cover up with a nice, warm blanket and remind myself of how I was sick. With a cold. Three weeks ago. (Cough, cough.)
I blow my nose a few times and based on the snot-ness I’m sure it’s better if I get some rest before I start my strenuous day.
I nod off. For four hours. Which brings me to lunchtime. At which point my husband will inevitably call and I will pretend the sleep out of my voice and act as though I’ve been Doing.
I eat, then back to the couch. Nauseous. Must have been something I ate.
Watch my favorite tv show, then grudgingly get up to prepare a snack for kids getting off the bus soon.
I am a disgrace to house-wifey-ing. I am ashamed and embarrassed of this post. I know how hard everyone else is working; I used to be one of you.
Here’s the beacon of light and it’s sincere and it’s true: when I get them off the bus, I’m 100% in-the-game. Playing, homework, dinner prep, making memories, sharing, caring, being there fully, all together.
I might be completely useless from 7:15 to 3:42, but until they are cuddled in, warm in their beds, I am giving them my all.
And that’s my Brutally Honest Breakdown.