Eight loads of laundry to fold? BEEP!
Trying to figure out how to balance your work and home life? BEEP!
On the exit 4 off ramp and other motorists are swerving all around you because your car won't go? BEEP!
Dull, lifeless hair? BEEP!
The solution to everything! And it was right there this whole time. So, I tried it. You know, pushing the button. Here's the little mental monologue that I had:
Me, pausing as I walk past the microwave because something has caught my eye: "HELP, it says. Sweet! Don't mind if I do."
"Huh. I don't feel as though I've been helped in any way. Strange."
"Hmm. I still have cracks on my heels, an outrageous phone bill, and four children running in circles around/on my feet."
I guess my happy discovery wasn't as happy as I thought. I made other discoveries this week. I know you're simply salivating to know what a stay-at-home mom has discovered this week. Well, buckle your seat belts.
1. I don't work. This is something that society has already told me, but was reinforced this week when I called my local State Farm agent to see if they could save me any money on my auto insurance (they couldn't, a sad discovery). After telling the agent my drivers license number, blood type, shampoo type, and everything else she asked, "And do you work?" I hesitated, cringed, and then hesitated again before telling her that I don't work.
And I hated every second of it.
Every time someone asks me that question I want to launch into a twenty minute lecture about how staying at home with children actually is work (hence daycare workers requiring compensation), but I rarely do. Anyway, the important thing is the discovery: I don't work! Ha ha ha ha ha! I immediately began performing a little leprechaun dance all over my driveway. I am the luckiest girl in the world! I kicked my feet up, ordered Macey to bring me some kind of drink with an umbrella in it, and asked Chancho to give me a foot rub. I figure, if I'm not working I'm going to make the most of it.
2. Kids have stinky feet, too. I took Macey and Olivia to a tumbling class today to see if it might be something they'd enjoy, or at least would wear them out. One little room. Eight little kids. Sixteen rotten, smelly little feet.
3. I can't crochet. I tried it this week for the second time in my life. The results were the same as the first time: tangled wad of yarn, crochet hook to the eyeball, curse words. I've decided that crocheting is one of those spiritual gifts that is given to some. I was not given the gift of crochet. I was given the gifts of sarcasm, correct spelling, and accidentally saying things that are really offensive. And I'm running with it.
And those are my discoveries.