What ever happened to women being able to "take to their beds"? I love it in Pride and Prejudice when the crazy mom has an attack of nerves, plops on a floppy sleeping cap, climbs in bed, and rings for tea. Why can't I do that? Can't I complain of the vapors or fantods or something, put on my volumnous lace night gown, and retire to my bed chamber?
Instead, I get to plod through this day. I teach 2 classes today, then go home and tackle such riveting tasks as: washing Sophie's peed on sheets, cleaning up the roll of toilet paper that Jimmy ripped into submission this morning, shopping for juice boxes and feminine hygiene products, and cleaning out the refrigerator before it gets up and walks away.
I really should have servants. Instead, I have the exact opposite of servants. The three other beings that live in my house seem to think that I have too much time on my hands, and need them to help me fill it by emptying Pepsi cans and leaving them for me to find and throw away, finding pencils to chew the leave little shards for me to step on and then vacuum, and make many and varied messes involving jello and or cheese.
The doldrums are in full effect at the Jorgensen house folks.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Reading Dr. Seuss
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
I think I may have inadvertantly promised Sophie a hampster this morning.