I'd like to say I couldn't hear my darling son yelling his head off at the back door, but that would be lying. That boy can generate as much volume as a jet engine and deaf as I am, his voice can still penetrate the fog enshrouding my head.

I was just ignoring him while shopping online. From the tone of his voice, he wanted something and I had just made myself comfortable on the couch with my laptop perched on a pillow and a popsicle in my hand. The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was get off my arse and well, parent.


Realizing my son is like the Energizer bunny and would just keep on yelling at me until I answered, I sighed and called out, "WHAT?"

(It's much easier to shout back then actually get up to see what he wanted. It's classier too.)

Maybe I would have gotten up to see what he wanted if I hadn't spent the majority of the day on my hands and knees scrubbing floors and walls that my darling children can't seem to keep clean. Maybe I would have gotten up if I hadn't spent the day slaving away doing their laundry while they frolicked outside in the pool as I sweated inside and sorted socks. Maybe I would have gotten up if I hadn't just made supper, only to have them whine about having to eat brussel sprouts.

Maybe. Probably not though, knowing me.

From my comfy spot on the couch, I could hear Frac yell "SDLKJLFJAJEONGLKJFDLKJ!!!! HOSE! JJKHOIUEMFLNKHRWKJ!!! FIND!!! LKJGDSORKGLSKJDRW!!!"

Annoyed that I couldn't make out what he was so loudly barking at me, (and mildly annoyed that I couldn't just have one freaking minute of peace,) I pretended I was on a deserted island and ignored my child licked my popsicle.

I didn't feel bad about it either. I figured if he was bleeding or broken, he'd have already showed me his war wounds. What ever he wanted couldn't have been too important.

"MMMOOOOMMM!" He yelled again.

Why is it when you are scrubbing out toilets your kids never seem to need you but the moment you open your laptop or answer the phone, they have this sudden urgent need for your attention?

And why is it after more than a decade of parenting, I am still befuddled and annoyed by this wonderment?



"Oh for pete's sake, Frac. If you want to talk with me, walk to the living room. Stop yelling across the house. The neighbours are going to think you were raised by a redneck." Heh.

Seconds later, my eldest son walked into the living room covered in slime, dripping wet and tracking a pile of mud and filth across my freshly scrubbed floors.

"WHAT THE H-E-double hockey sticks!!!".

"That's what I was trying to tell you, Mom. I fell into the slough and I stepped in goose poop. Where did you put the hose? I thought I would rinse off before coming in the house."


As I chased him back outside and mentally cursed to myself about having a piano tied to my ass, I grabbed the mop and started rewashing my floors. Again.

This time, I thought to myself, when I finally get a chance to sit back down, I'm skipping the popsicle and diving straight into my mommy juice.

After all, I need to toast my *stellar* parenting skills. I'm not thinking anyone else will do it for me.