One of my biggest enemies since becoming a mom has always been, and I fear always will be, the never-ending pile of dirty clothes. We’ve trained our little minions to put their dirty goods in the hamper in the morning and at night; however, it is such a growing mound, that it literally explodes from the closet when they open it. Every time that door is opened, I seriously feel like the ginormous heap is flipping me the bird. And as much as I’d love to just throw down with it right then and there, I know that is one battle I’m just never gonna win. I’d love to just say screw it, even if just for one day, but all that does is punish me. The next day will be double the trouble, and I will kick myself for slacking. Yes, I have had to accept the fact that the beast that is our dirty laundry has taken me hostage for at least the next decade or until I can train our little soldiers to help me defeat it.
So, here it is….my attempt at writing a blog. In reality, I’ll probably only have time to type a few lines before my five-year–old twins come bounding in here for me to referee yet another Wii-fueled argument. To say that I am a stay-at-home mom who craves the brain stimulation of adult conversation would be an understatement. However, I am often embarrassed to say that I used to be an English teacher because I am so mentally exhausted most of that time that I can’t even form normal sentences! I am convinced that my children have sucked the brain cells right out of my head. We have been so focused on ABC’s and 1-2-3’s the past five years in our house that I sometimes forget that not everyone’s world revolves around a certain sponge-worthy resident of Bikini Bottom. It’s really not quite the same thing to discuss the state of the economy with kindergartners, whose only ability to relate comes from how many coins they can fit in their piggy banks. Don’t get me wrong; we have some very meaningful discussions around here, such as “where does my poop go when I flush the toilet?” It would be so helpful for my mental functionality, however, to occasionally talk to someone over the age of five throughout the day – and the lady at the Starbucks drive-thru does not count! And now, as predicted, it’s time for me to put on my black and white uniform and send my little fighters to their prospective corners of the ring. Until next time…..