Yesterday started out like any other day. Kids grumbling because they had chores *gasp*, the dogs chasing the cats up ontop of my kitchen cabinets knocking over a Jack Daniels bottle, work, a pretty little girl pulling her diaper off, running through the house peeing yelling “Owwwie”. This was all in the first hour of sitting down and attempting to work.
I’ve always been a firm believer that if my house isn’t chaotic then there isn’t my home. But yesterday I think made me rethink my philosophy. For eight lovely hours the kids just pushed every single button possible. At one point I stared at the lock on the back door contemplating if it woul be considered abuse if I threw some sweatshirts, water, cups, and a box of grahm crackers and locked it.
I didn’t, instead I just kept reminding myself to breathe and that at one point in their lives they’ll be in my shoes and I pray that their kids are 10xs worse. *snicker* Anyways, the day goes on and the LAST 15 minutes of my shift, the house blew up. No not literally, silly. The washer started making this horrendous pounding sound, while Lil t’ comes running in the house crying and screaming about a Nerf gun, and Monkey tried doing a back flip on the couch and fell on the hard floor. I truly just wanted to disappear, but the sounds of the washer were so terrifying I knew I couldn’t. Cautiously I open the laundry room door to see my beautiful “new to me” front loader doing the jerk without a partner. Now when you walk into my laundry room the washer and dryer doors aren’t facing out at you, instead the doors face each other. So I lean over to look at the door and just stare in awe. There the bellow, the rubber gasket looking thing, was off and the tub was spinning out of control. I hit pause and just start throwing F-bombs like no tomorrow. Fling the door open and get hit with a strip of metal, which turned out to have rusted and broke it was a circle at one point. Jaw hits the ground and the tears start flowing while the kids are hollering at each other that it’s not their fault, they didn’t do it, blah blah blah. At this point their voices are nothing but very far distance noises.
And that is when a small smidgeon of panic set in. What in the hell is a mom to do with the clothes for a family of 6 and no washer?!
I walked past the kids, opened the fridge and grabbed a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, walked outside and sat in my chair.
I accepted defeat for the day, or so I thought…