Posts Tagged ‘Chores’

Eyes half open, a long, heavy breath escapes me.  I heave my body out of bed and as I hobble to the bathroom I contemplate how long I will hurt.  At least fifteen minutes, I decide, before blood flow and juices will redistribute throughout my joints and ease the ache.

My hands lather up into soapy mitts and I yawn as the warm water washes away a few of the morning’s wounds.

Downstairs, the sun has yet to rise as I finish sorting lights from darks and colors from towels but I feel quiet relief as I tap the play button and listen to our laundry embark on its journey to clean.

Hurriedly, I run the hoover over the Berber hoping to lift at least half of the animal hair in my ten second tidy and I thank the powers that be for Lysol Wipes while I do a snappy sweep of the main toilet.

My shoulders throb more than they should as I scoop the litter box, add clean sand, refresh three water bowls and fill up the Kibbles ’n Bits…in triplicate.

A pattern emerges as I throw three pellets into three fish bowls and toss three sandwiches into three brown paper bags; the chill boxes long since deemed uncool.

My joints have eased, if only slightly, so I bound up the stairs with only minutes to dress.  I paint my lips crimson and pause only to ensure the lines are crisp and precise.

Leaving for work, I tiptoe into the warmth of three different bedrooms and watch over three children, different, yet somehow the same.  I press my lips down firmly on each of their sleepy and incredibly soft cheeks and leave a distinct and definite impression.

I inhale peace; they will understand I was there.

I swallow sorrow; proof wiped away, three times over.

Proof Times Three

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Trust me?

I worked like a dog today. Do dogs really work that hard? I know mine doesn’t! (What is that quote about anyway?) But I did. I didn’t sit down all dang day, stopping only to have intermittent bites of the banana I chose as a quick, convenient (not all that satisfying) lunch. (Well, I could’ve had potato chips, so stop looking at me like that)

Yes…as soon as I got in from a leisurely, hang out till you can’t hang no more breakfast, I worked hard.

Oh. Now I’ve lost your trust. Okay, I did go for breakfast, but I swear, when I got home, I did a week’s worth of work over the next nine hours.

I cleaned bathrooms, vacuumed carpets, washed floors, built a piece of furniture, gutted kid’s rooms, disemboweled a (very constipated) closet, ran eight loads of laundry (amazingly easy to accumulate that amount at my house), sorted paperwork (also stupefyingly effortless to accrue here and, hands down, my most dreaded chore), let pets in and out of what they believe is a never locked, always available revolving door and I, the doorman at the Hilton. (If only this were the Hilton – Hawaii, take me away)

Am I winning you back yet? Trust me. I worked and I worked. It paid off too. Now, I’m only slightly behind for tomorrow as opposed to flailing moat deep like I would’ve been if I’d have, say, gone out for lunch today as well. Tempting, but no.

I watched Love Actually the other (much more appealing) night (the luxury is a distant memory), and I have to admit, I envied (cursed) Colin Firth as he hired a ‘house girl’ to look after his needs. (No, not like that. Well, at least not right away anyway) He sat at his typewriter, gazing out at the calm, Willow-brushed water, writing his latest, greatest novel while she cooked, cleaned and ran his errands. (I may have to stomp my feet for just a minute)

As I type this, I lay propped on several pillows, a heating pad scorching the undercarriage of my torso and a pillow supporting my screaming knees. Ahh, it hurts so good, or should that be bad? I’m delirious.

All right, I’ve had my fun. My rant has come to an end. An end yes, but not a bitter one.

I’m counting my blessings; I own a heating pad, I have a bed to lie on, there is a (brand new cedar) roof over my head that I am grateful for (even though it will take the next ten years to pay for), my children lay sleeping in their beds, I own a laptop, not a typewriter (Take that, Colin), I was able to bang out a post that I never thought possible today and…wait for it…I got to listen to Adele for nine hours straight. Who could ask for anything more?

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