For a few weeks now, I have been struggling with a way to get back into writing, and I even made it so far to start this heartfelt post about how having kids this age is like living with three of your best friends – kind of like college, only now you live with your boyfriend, too, which would be pretty weird if you lived in a dorm with your friends, and even though you sometimes squabble about who left which mess where, you also laugh, like a lot, because you have enough in common to really get each other, but you are different enough that sometimes they can totally surprise you.
It was going to be lovely, but I couldn’t quite finish it because it had this vibe like I wasn’t really parenting anymore, just hanging out and having a constantly good time, and I hadn’t figured out how to correct that tone without just saying, “It’s not like that.”
I worked on it this morning for a while before the kids woke up and started getting ready for school, at which point we discovered that despite the fact that I do a load of laundry several times a week, and despite my near-constant harping about making sure all your dirty clothes are down the laundry chute, one of my children had zero (0) pairs of clean underwear this morning.
Nearest store open before 8am: 15 minutes away, and I had yet to dry my hair or get dressed. Nearest laundry room where this child got to get much more involved in the clothes-cleaning process: downstairs.
At least my writer’s block problem is temporarily solved.