This week I will be conducting an experiment of the Domestic Engineering type. I will be performing a weeks worth of domestic duties with an open mind. It will be an exploration of the inner mind of the average stay at home mom. Call it a social experiment, if you will. I will be keeping a journal of my expedition this week, and updating several times throughout the day.
MONDAY MORNING 8:28a.m. : I have had an hour sucked from my veins, and spilled 1/2 cup of fresh brewed coffee on my leg. I am taking a survey of the domestic duties needed to be performed today. My home appears to have been attacked by hoodlums. I'm not sure there's a clean dish left in my kitchen, the laundry hamper threw up in my bathroom, and my living room has been littered with stray belts, hangers, and DS games. But first things first: The baby needs pants and breakfast.
8:39 a.m. : Baby. Pants. Now.
8:43 a.m. : Seriously. Quit typing and go feed your child.
10:06 a.m. : Dishwasher is purring away. My little expedition leader directed activities from his booster seat with efficiency. When faced with the beast of the dishwasher we teamed up to tame it with a mighty rhythm: Dish, dish, pick up toy. Dish, dish, pick up toy.
10:41 a.m. : Had a rare sighting of the Wifus Domesticus. She appeared wild and unkempt, her eyes a bit manic. She got a glimpse of me and was gone in just a fraction of a second. It's a good thing too, she scared the crap out of me. The expedition leader has grown tired and shall now be laid down for a morning nap. It is up to me to carry on without him.
11:24 a.m. : Things are beginning to get rough. I'm finding that I must buckle up and push through the need for a nap. With the expedition leader napping I should move on and begin cleaning the bathroom. Is there a category on Craig's List for Spelunking gear?
11:49 a.m. : I am beginning to realize how unprepared I am for this journey. I clearly needed a haz-mat suit to handle my son's skivvies. Also, there was gum adhered to the bottom of my bathroom garbage can. Some questions may be better off left unasked.
12:42 p.m. : The journey in the bathroom was more exciting than I could have imagined. After getting over the disappointment that I had clearly just missed a pack (herd?) of spitting camels, I found the fortitude to continue on. I discovered fossilized toothpaste which I have carefully packed up for future analysis at the lab. On a different note, base camp has run out of paper plates and dishwasher detergent, which can be a fatal combination. I've been informed that base camp has also run out of toilet bowl cleaner. That, my friends, is catastrophic.
3:39 p.m. : With the return of the family scouts expected soon, I feel the need for a late afternoon pick me up. I will soon be expected to answer a large daily quota of questions, none of which are actually about me or my day. It takes energy to know exactly what the ninja skill limitations of Scooby Doo are. Should I go with additional coffee, or prop my eyelids open with a toothpick?
MONDAY MORNING 8:28a.m. : I have had an hour sucked from my veins, and spilled 1/2 cup of fresh brewed coffee on my leg. I am taking a survey of the domestic duties needed to be performed today. My home appears to have been attacked by hoodlums. I'm not sure there's a clean dish left in my kitchen, the laundry hamper threw up in my bathroom, and my living room has been littered with stray belts, hangers, and DS games. But first things first: The baby needs pants and breakfast.
8:39 a.m. : Baby. Pants. Now.
8:43 a.m. : Seriously. Quit typing and go feed your child.
10:06 a.m. : Dishwasher is purring away. My little expedition leader directed activities from his booster seat with efficiency. When faced with the beast of the dishwasher we teamed up to tame it with a mighty rhythm: Dish, dish, pick up toy. Dish, dish, pick up toy.
10:41 a.m. : Had a rare sighting of the Wifus Domesticus. She appeared wild and unkempt, her eyes a bit manic. She got a glimpse of me and was gone in just a fraction of a second. It's a good thing too, she scared the crap out of me. The expedition leader has grown tired and shall now be laid down for a morning nap. It is up to me to carry on without him.
11:24 a.m. : Things are beginning to get rough. I'm finding that I must buckle up and push through the need for a nap. With the expedition leader napping I should move on and begin cleaning the bathroom. Is there a category on Craig's List for Spelunking gear?
11:49 a.m. : I am beginning to realize how unprepared I am for this journey. I clearly needed a haz-mat suit to handle my son's skivvies. Also, there was gum adhered to the bottom of my bathroom garbage can. Some questions may be better off left unasked.
12:42 p.m. : The journey in the bathroom was more exciting than I could have imagined. After getting over the disappointment that I had clearly just missed a pack (herd?) of spitting camels, I found the fortitude to continue on. I discovered fossilized toothpaste which I have carefully packed up for future analysis at the lab. On a different note, base camp has run out of paper plates and dishwasher detergent, which can be a fatal combination. I've been informed that base camp has also run out of toilet bowl cleaner. That, my friends, is catastrophic.
3:39 p.m. : With the return of the family scouts expected soon, I feel the need for a late afternoon pick me up. I will soon be expected to answer a large daily quota of questions, none of which are actually about me or my day. It takes energy to know exactly what the ninja skill limitations of Scooby Doo are. Should I go with additional coffee, or prop my eyelids open with a toothpick?
5 comments:
You missed a spot.
Coffee sounds good to me, when will it be ready?
P.S. You might want to change Critter more. I only see one posting that has that included and I know he goes more than that right? I didn't see anything about lunch or snacks either. But good job on the bathroom could you come do mine? I hate to clean the bathroom it takes forever.
Ha! "You missed a spot."
That's treading on some dangerous territory!
Can I just go off a minute about the gum in the bathroom wastebasket? OK, never get it under the basket, but it's most often AROUND the basket. Their theory is 'Well, close enough!' and then they streak off. When they (rarely) get it in the basket, it's often not wadded up in a piece of tissue (as I constantly ask), but instead stuck like cement on the bottom. Gum will kill me one day, I swear.
You are too funny! Wanna come do my bathroom next?
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