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Answering Life's Biggest Questions
Sound advice
for Frazzled
Dear Abby and Katie:
I am a mom and often feel like I get nothing done, EVER. Can you
commiserate? Any suggestions for efficiency or practical advice?
Sincerely,
Frazzled in the Family Room
Dear Frazzled:
Can we commiserate? Sweet child, we can write an entire book on
failures of our domestic duties. We know the drill- you
start out with a lofty to-do list to cross off as the minutes tick
by. There it sits, like a diamond to be polished. Things go
well for the first few items, mainly because you have added the things
that have already been done. You can tell the to-do list police
that it isn't a crime to operate in retroactive productivity. So
#1-4 get blazed out in Black Sharpie Glory, until you hit a few of our
favorites:
1) Making an important phone call:
Mysterious charges have appeared on your monthly cell phone statement,
and you have finally succumbed to the harsh reality of dialing that
dreaded toll free number. Of course, no actual human answers on
the other end, and you are created by the Robo-Rita voice. She
sounds real, buttttttt she's not. You get past the standard "1"
for English, "2" for Spanish" question and are feeling a sense of
zen. Then comes the "Enter your account number" command, and out
of nowhere comes your boisterous toddler ready to mess with this
plan. What happens next? STRESS. Little man wants
more juice, and his incessant whining gets mistaken for a command
and suddenly you are being transferred to tech support across 12
oceans.
"This call my be recorded for quality purposes," the voice continues.
How is the quality of my monster mom voice when I'm telling little
megaphone man to BE QUIET. You promptly end the call- the extra
charges don't total the cost of the alcohol that will be required to
get through the rest of the to-do.
We would rate that call one bottle of wine and two shots of something
stronger.
2. The Dishwasher. You ran it last night, with great
intentions of unloading the heaps of sippy cups, peanut-butter crusted
knives and questionably slimy plates before your darling fam
emerges. Whelp, that didn't happen, so now, you open the door and
brace yourself for the disaster to abound. Instantly, you start cursing
the incoherent madness of the top rack. Whyyyyyy did you decide
to cram all of those ice cream bowls in when it was already lined with
dirty cups? Now, everything is dripping wet and half of the
chocolate syrup has been baked on like tar. Secondly, whose idea
was to make the silverware compartments large enough to accommodate the
entire utensil drawer without the capability of ACTUALLY CLEANING
THEM. Scraping scrambled egg off the fork prongs isn't exactly
what the appliance company promised in their television
commercial. And for the last bit of disaster, here comes those
darling tots 'round the corner. Like a magnet, they find the ONE
sharp knife you lodged between the spoons and are climbing all over the
open door. Somewhere, your engineer husband is suffering a stress
migraine as he senses that the door WASN'T BUILT TO SUPPORT THIRTY
POUNDS OF TODDLER. Sorry, hon. We can skip that one on the list,
too.
3. Bathrooms. I mean, seriously. Are words even
necessary? Once you don your hazmat suit and locate the necessary
military-grade supplies, you enter. What. Is. That. Smell?!
Toothpaste caked on every crevice of the sink (seriously- did any Crest
actually make it INTO their mouths?). Hair ties flung across the
counter like a basket weave. Urine still literally dripping down
the toilet seat, taunting you in both sight and smell. And
this is all before you whip back the shower curtain like a Crime Scene
Investigator. You are met with the unspeakable. Bath toys
that squirt out flaky mold, empty strawberry shampoo containers that
were apparently used in a GRAND bubble bath party and nasty ponytails
of hair stuck in the drain. No. Thank. You. This one
needs reinforcements that can only be spelled: HUBBY. No
satisfying check in the box next to this one on the list today, either.
So, Frazzled, we're sorry. We wish we had some great advice to
give, but all we have to say is RUN. Fast and far away. Along the way,
try to find a poor college student that will stoop to all levels of
filth to pay the bill for Bio101. Market it as a way to get a
step-up on identifying all of the molds and bacteria they will soon see
under their lab microscope.
Sincerely,
A&K
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