Having a toothache for weeks does not make for a clean house.
Nor does having a family that feels cheated because the maid has a toothache.
For the last week, I have done nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. I've done a dish here and there, but not much more. A toothache took over my life, filling every thought, prohibiting every action. It was hell. I finally got it pulled on Tuesday of this week, and today, am finally feeling well enough to resume my duties as maid...err...mother and wife.
So, I go down into the basement to begin laundry. Lucky for me, I didn't have to go to the laundry. It greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. It was excited to see me as it was gagging on it's own stench. It was ready to be washed. I swear, it's tail was wagging with happiness to see me.
There are loads upon loads to be done. It will take all weekend to complete.....
If I'm lucky.
The kids are all, "I don't have any jeans to wear." And Mike is like, "I'm out of underwear!" Their gazes turn to me as if to say, "Well?"
So, I just keep saying to myself, "I like to do laundry. I like to do laundry. I like to do laundry."
I'm Being Swallowed Up By Mounds of Laundry
Laundry Day
In the basement this afternoon:
I'm doing laundry and Tim comes running down the stairs.
Tim: Mom!
Me: What?
Tim: Um...
Me: What do you want?
Tim: I forgot.
Me: Get me your dirty pants, please. Take the ones off that you're wearing and put the others down the chute from your room. I want to wash a load now.
Tim: OK. He grabs a pair of jogging pants and heads upstairs.
Ten minutes later
Me: Tim? Where are those pants?
No answer.
Me: Tim!!!!! Hollering up the stairs I need those pants!
Tim: Here they come!
A blue pair comes flying down the stairs and lands at the bottom.
OK, I have one pair. Still waiting on at least two more.
Me: Tim, I need the other pairs laying on the floor of your bedroom.
No answer.
Me: Tiiiiimmmm! Get me the pants off your bedroom floor!
Nothing.
Me: Damn it, Tim! Where are those pants?!
Ten more minutes have passed by this time.
Tim: I couldn't find them.
Me: I said, they are on the floor of your bedroom. You probably walked on top of them several times in the last two days!
Keep in mind that all of this conversation is taking place with me in the basement and Tim in the living room upstairs. My voice was growing hoarse and my throat sore.
Tim: Oh, OK.
Five minutes later, the pants make their way down the laundry chute.
Is it any wonder why some mothers turn to drinking?
