One Voice
Sunday, January 23, 2011 at 6:21PM subtitle: Where Has All My Content Gone
If you are singing a certain song by Paula Cole, we are now besties (if you want to be, of course) (I don’t condone friendship pact rape) (although… I’m pretty sure I’m guilty of that).
…Marbles.In Pretend Land, where I honestly chose to live a large portion of my days, I figured this single mom thing would mean I’d do the same amount of work around the house, but would also work outside of the home. Funny thing about my Pretend Land is that it’s mildly realistic - so my shock hasn’t really come and I don’t know that it will.
Because honestly? I do the same amount of work around the house, minus the fact that I take out the garbage. And by “take out the garbage” I mean I pull it out of the garbage bin, tie it, walk 4.5 feet and place it in a separate garbage receptacle outside because I have some magical apartment thing known as “valet trash service”. For the record, that’s a fancy term for “some teenager in a really dirty, old and mostly broken down Ford comes to my door every Sunday through Thursday night at approximately 7:30 p.m. and takes away my trash”.
Tonight, as I have fought the War Against The Word Poop, which has spread it’s evil tentacles into the soul of my 3-year-old (having already completely invaded Conner) whilst doing enough laundry to impress a small orphanage (wait, orphans probably don’t have a lot of clothes… so let’s pretend I said “The Duggars”… tit for tat) I realized something - it’s not the extra set of hands I miss.
I miss having another set of lungs, another voice box - another person saying “JUST STOP IT”.
“If I say “stop it” one more time to that kid I’m going to LOSE MY FARKING MIND,” you say.
And your … person who helped make the children with currently questionnable living arrangement… gets the Big Red Flag Moment and does the yelling for you.
“Your mother said to stop, I heard her, you heard her, now go to your room!”
And suddenly, the skies part and you are offered about 2.25 minutes of cool down time in which you hide under your covers and repeat things like “Children are blessings from God… Children are blessings from God”.
Or sometimes, you text your best friends (from under said covers) “If I kill myself, you can have my toothbrush (sounds weird, but go with me here), all of my nail polish, my pedi-egg and my hair dryer”.
Because see, that text happened earlier. My toothbrush, I should clarify, is like going to the dentist a few times a day, was expensive, and my bestie happens to want to steal it from me.
And because she is a single mom trying to figure this whole mess out too, she text back “Awww! Your most prized possessions! But I cannot live without my lobster. Kids being difficult?”
“OMG. YES.”
To which she responds “Dimetapp - 6:45”
And that is how you know you love your best friend.
It’s also why I’m writing this post at 6:45.
(Dear future judge, I did not drug my children. This is a blog. For reals… get past it)