A lot of waiting for stuff, in lines, on the phone, for people who are incredibly sssllllooooowwww.
I got a new computer because mine crashed itself into complete uselessness. But they forgot to include some CD that I need to get the whole thing going. This infuriated me beyond words.
Well, I suppose I wasn’t beyond or above four-letter words, but the nice ones weren’t available for my consumption as I spent hours on the phone with “helpers.”
Then after church I went into the bakery to retrieve the bribe to pay off the kids for not embarrassing us and to get chicken salad sandwiches.
Well, this bakery is always packed and it’s a true miracle if you don’t have to wait longer than 15 minutes just to get to the counter.ÂÂ
But even with that, I wasn’t prepared to get the trainee and her trainer to wait on me. I was fuming as they fumbled through every element of sandwich making. I never would have said yes to lettuce and tomato if I knew it involved taking the trainee into the back to show her were to get it, how to cut it and God knows what else they did to my food.ÂÂ
I scrounged my mind for the person who I knew was somewhere in the world completely irritated with me, who is waiting for something from me… I know there’s a lesson in all this. But truthfully, right now, I’m not in the mood for lessons.
I make fun of my housewife skills all the time. Partly because I don’t think I’m THAT bad at it. But really, today I accepted I am bad at it. I can’t keep up with the cycle of cleaning, washing, preparing food, cleaning it up, etc. Just when I think it’s done, the next thing comes rolling back to do again. And I always skip some item in the cycle because I can’t bear to do it again.ÂÂ
I could keep up with it if it was all I did. If I took great pride in saying come to home, eat off the floors, examine my drawers for clues to organizing the mess that’s YOUR life. And if that’s what floats your boat then great and count me in the crowd that’s completely jealous of your dedication.ÂÂ
I want to do two things. Take care of the kids and write. Where the F is my freaking fairy Godmother? Or just anyone bearing pail, scrubby things, and the desire to make someone else’s house neat as a pin. Because I love a clean house, but I just can’t do it all.
I know. I’m a grumpy housewife.
I hear ya on the housework, sister. Although for some reason the other day I had an insane urge to be domestic. I ironed the freakin’ sheets! Maybe it was a full moon. Normally, not so much with the housework. I always say i want to make just enough with my writing to afford a maid to come in twice a month.
Hey Jaye…ironing sheets, I’m impressed. I do love the smell of a hot iron. Oh, well, so much I must sacrifice to write. HEHEHE. I love that feeling when everything is clean, but it’s the “not staying that way” part that makes me insane.
UGH — don’t even get me started on the housework. Why is it assumed that because we choose to be at-home moms, we automatically LOVE housework (and are subsequently GOOD at it as well)?? One of these days, I’ll figure out how to stay on top of it all….probably just in time to go back to work.
Don’t feel bad about doing the I’m-so-impatient-because-you’re-so-slow-I’m-gonna-lose-my-mind thing….I get there at least once a week. I know we were all new once, but why does it seem like I always get the newbies when I’m in a hurry? I’m sure I’m not the only one that gets so lucky! 😉
My Bears are in the Super Bowl!! *happy dance, happy dance*
Housework is “the daily failure”. How in the heckfire do I copyright that term, heh.
My mom is obsessively clean. I decided I didn’t want to be that way…ever. I like my clutter.
One thing I refuse to do around here is to clean up after inconsiderate people. I’m more than happy to do the laundry and the dishes, but if my family members can’t be bothered to put their favorite dirty shirts in the hamper, tough titty. If I have to ask you to do it you do it on MY time. You get to stop watching TV, or whatever else, and go pick up your crap. I’m not the maid.
Of course, I can’t include my toddler in on this. Guess who inconsiderately drew crayon scribbles all over the walls?
Oh, Becky, that’s funny. “The Daily Failure,” claim it as yours right now! It sounds so ominous–perfect. When I really think about how the 1950’s housewife lived I’m sure I would have died from the degree of failure I’d have experienced. What would I have been in that role? My God, drunk for one thing, I’m sure.