The sun dawns bright on a new, hopeful day, a day full of the promise of tidy rooms, sparkling floors and empty laundry baskets. I start out in my own bedroom, making my bed. But alas, the bed-in-a-bag came with about a litter of fancy little pillows that looked way cooler on the bag than they do on my floor. And then there it is, under the satin-front cord-trimmed throw, the beginning of the end. A shoe. A child's shoe. I pick it up and, immediately forgetting about the rest of the pillows, I head off, shoe in hand, to the kid's room. On my way, I pick up several homeless toys and a pair of underwear (don't ask), and upon arrival, set to work putting the toys and shoe away. Just before the closet, my bare foot decends on a disabling land-mine... a Lego. I stumble and hop, gripe and hiss, and of course, drop the shoe.
A din shrouds my chipper outlook as I am suddenly sucked into this vortex of mass destruction, trying to make order out of the chaotic black hole, without the assistance of lasers or ray guns or anything. And then I see it, under a pile of well mixed clean and dirty clothes...my spatula. Yes, my spatula. My favorite, very straight, perfectly thin, slightly flexible, excellent for chocolate chip cookies- yet still perfect for pancakes-metal spatula.
I am insensed. How dare those little aliens?! I march out of the room, spatula held aloft like a brandished sword, and stomp-limp down the hall, trying to imagine what those little creatons might have been doing with it. The possibilities all lead to the same disgusting conclusion, and the same destination. Straight to the dishwasher. I open the machine, but realize at the sight of water puddles in the tops of all of the upside-down cups, that this load is clean. Unload, reload,wait... Why is my hammer in the sink? Off I go, to the studio, making a mental note to investigate this one...
MY STUDIO!!!!!!!!!! Oh
I launch myself over the teetering stack of sundries accidentally kicking it over, and speed to the living room. But the phone is somewhere in the pile of clean laundry. I don't find it in time. I bet you can't imagine what I start doing after I finally do find the phone.
As the sun is setting on the day, I make my way through the house with armfulls of folded laundry, and as I go, this is what I see: a partially destroyed studio, complete with misplaced hammer, a strewn pile of kids debris, a half-unloaded, open dishwasher, dirty spatula near by, a semi-destroyed black hole with both Legos and one stray shoe on the floor, and at last, a nearly completely made bed, minus throw pillows, which remain on the floor.
Multi-task, my sore foot. I flop onto the bed, and kick the remaining throw pillows onto the floor. Ha. Task that.
Oh, and by the way, I never did finish putting away the laundry, either.