What I do all day.

So, I have been trying to figure out what exactly it is that I do all day, because when I look around me, my house appears quite a bit like a dump would appear.  I know what the dump looks like because I once went to the dump with The Man when we were in college.  Boy were we in love.  And boy, was that place nasty.  Kindof like my house, only my house lacks the odor. 

Anyway, so back to me and what I do all day.  Here is all I can figure out…

5:15 wakey wakey!  (My dad used to wake us up that way when I was in high school.  Just for your information, if you want to irritate a 17 year old girl, that is a good way to go about it.  Love you Daddy!!!) 

I take Charlie out for a quickie pee, and then I grab a cup of coffee and work for an hour and a half. 

6:45 Charlie and I go for a 45 minute walk.  It’s nice and quiet and the only creatures that are out are other insane people like me and mean deer that will run you down if you’re not careful.  I fear the deer, actually.  They are terrifying.

7:30 The Man leaves and I begin the daily chores and stuff.  It is from this point on that the day kind of escapes me.  I clean stuff.  I make food.  I clean more stuff.  I play with Ella.  I clean stuff.  I make more food.  I clean stuff.  Laundry.  Water the plants.  Every now and then I yell at someone and ask them if I’m the only person in the house that knows how to put stuff away.  (This keeps them on their toes.)   

This goes on all day, and honestly, the house still looks like a dump. 

I know that I end each day with another 45 minute walk with Charlie (unless the deer are out because if they are we have to go waaaaaay out of our way to avoid getting attacked and then instead of it being a “nice long walk” it is a “loooooonnnnnggg walk where three fourths of my body hurts”).  Then I pour a glass of wine and watch something like American Pickers or Pawn Stars or a gardening show with The Man.  Some days I try to remember what I did all day, and I now believe I am losing more than the normal number of brain cells each day because I can’t remember anything.   And then we go to bed around 10:00.    

Tomorrow, I am going to write down everything I do during the day.  I will tell you what I do.  Hopefully it is a lot.  It would be embarassing if it was a bunch of laying around and eating milk duds and watching Rodrick Rules.  (And hey, I was forced to do that last week because Ella was sick and we couldn’t go to the pool and the kids were soooooo bored.  And they got really good report cards, too, so technically it was like I was doing it for them.) 

At this point tomorrow you will know all about my life.  I’m sure you will be all the better for it, don’t you think?

Advertisements
What I do all day.

5 thoughts on “What I do all day.

  1. I have the same issue. The house is a complete and utter mess, and I spend all day picking things up. Gah!

    My grandfather once said they should invent a house that flushes. Instant clean!

  2. 1. You are funny! 2. You are describing my house and my life — so maybe it’s not that funny after all. 3. They tell me it gets better, but I will reveal an awful truth: I have a nineteen, a nearly-seventeen, and a fourteen — and it’s not better yet.

    I’m still waiting . . . .

  3. You must be mistaken, because I could have sworn you were writing about me… well, minus the walking the dog part. 🙂 It’s crazy, isn’t it? I want to feel productive! I’ve often said if I could have any super power it would be the power to snap my fingers and the clutter disappear and the house be clean. But then I guess it wouldn’t be lived in, would it? And I’d much rather be living together…

Say it...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s