Skip to main content

The cereal box

There were three cereal boxes on the counter. And a bag of bagels. On the counter. Like, not put away in the pantry. They wouldn't fit. So we stacked them in front of the kitchen aid.

WE STACKED THEM IN FRONT OF THE KITCHEN AID LIKE WE WERE SOME KIND OF LAZY BUMS WHO DON'T ORGANIZE THEIR HOUSE.

I lost it. Literally, lost  my shit.

Those damn cereal boxes needed to be in the pantry. Like we were civilized people who don't store their food on the counter.

Those boxes were coming to get me. They were smoothering me. Taking over my kitchen, taking up space, spreading out, until we no longer realized they were there and we lived every day accepting the mess because we now had no time to clean it up. Those boxes were a cancer on our lives and I needed them GONE.

This isn't the type of thing that normally bothers me. I mean, I try to aim for a de-cluttered house, but I can usually deal with it. Last year, in the first year of starting my own business, I'd hung onto that J.K. Rowling quote that she'd basically lived in squalor while writing her books. If it was OK for her when writing Harry Potter, then it was OK for me starting a business. Last fall, I was OK with the mess.

Not now.

I guess I was extra awful and yelling because my husband grabbed me. You know, the guy with actual cancer. Who has to have chemo flood through his body? He grabbed me and hugged me while I cried because there were cereal boxes on the counter, and I couldn't control anything else, so damn it, I was going to control how we organized our food. I don't think he should be the one comforting me. 

Today, I was OK with the clutter. There is only one cereal box left on the counter, so maybe that's it, or maybe I'm settling in to the new normal. As I write this (and allowed myself the time and space to write this) the living room is a disaster. A chair is packed with bags, dinner dishes are still out, and it's hard to put anything down on the counter in the kitchen. But I haven't yelled or snapped at anyone today (undeserved. I yelled at Cleo and the three year old a few times, but they were asking for it with the running around naked when they were supposed to be brushing their teeth), and now everyone is in bed.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cleo's Daddy

If you ask my 3 year old who Cleo is, she'll say "She's my best friend. She doesn't listen. She's not fake." That is pretty much all you need to know. If someone colored on the walls, it was probably Cleo. The stuffed animals all over the floor? Cleo? Why is my daughter dancing around naked? Cleo's mom told her to. Bathroom visits take twice as long because we have to wait for Cleo to take her turn too. The other day, I caught my daughter cleaning up the floor in her room, and she patiently explained to me that Cleo had pooped on the floor, so she was dumping water on the spot. When I suggested that since Cleo has imaginary poop, maybe it could be cleaned with imaginary water. This did not go over well. My older daughter, whose six, has asked the three year old why she plays with Cleo, if Cleo is so mean. That should tell you about what we overhear when the three year old is playing by herself. The two of them are always fighting. So when my husban...

moments

Last night at dinner, the oldest daughter's blessed the food by saying "Thank you for daddy's good day. Please let him have another good day tomorrow." The youngest drew a self portrait of herself with no hair. She calmly explained, "That's me when I'm 7. I'm sick so all my hair fell out." Once I explained that she won't necessarily ever get so sick her hair falls out she seemed disappointed, but she added hair to her drawing. She's also asked me when I'm going to get cancer. Those big, earnest eyes make me so sad. Who knows what's going through that three year old brain.

First Snow Fall

Today was one of the hardest ones yet, mostly because it was a beautiful, event-filled day, and my husband couldn't be a part of it. We woke up to the start of the first snow of the season, which is always magic, especially if you have young children. Santa came to the preschool, then the three year old went to be a party where she met Elsa - and the six year old went to a friend's house and ate lunch out. There was a snowball fight, Christmas tree decorating, more snow play, and, at the very end of the night, we heard a fire engine wailing as it slowly crawled down our street in the snow. Running to the door, we saw Santa standing proudly on top, snow swirling around his head as he waved reverently to my awestruck girls. It was a pretty much magical December Saturday. Except that my husband had chemo on Thursday and was feeling it today, on top of a low-grade fever, which has me ridiculously nervous. There were moments of today that I was proud of myself for - when I l...