Let’s be honest, momming is hard enough some days; adulting is just too much. (And yes, momming is a verb, thankyouverymuch). Things like grocery shopping, laundry, and bill paying are small (or big) mountains to climb.
Fortunately, one of the amazing things about being a mom and being an adult is your ability to know when to say FTS and let it go. We have limited fucks to give after all, and some days housework just isn’t one of them. Amirite?
Home is where the mess is.
Home might be where the heart is, but when the little people who have your heart also have sticky hands and leave their socks all over the floor…well, home is also where the piles of laundry, dirty dishes, and unmade beds are.
The fairy tales lied.
Forget glass slippers and kissing princes, we want the fairies who bounce around cleaning up messes and folding all the laundry.
Mountains of laundry.
Where does all the laundry come from? It’s like one of those unsolvable mysteries of the universe that Neil deGrasse Tyson talks about. And why is impossible for clothes to make it into the laundry basket?
Everything is sticky.
Phyllis Diller once said, “Cleaning the house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.” There’s just no end. Which is why we end up with mountains of laundry to shovel and sticky everything.
Outsourcing at its best.
Look, if you’re just going to sit there and drink coffee, I’ve got some laundry that could use folding.
Who came up with this shit?
Why do they make is so damn hard to change a fitted sheet and cover a dish with saran wrap. Who invented these contraptions anyway? Probably a man.
What else is hidden under there?
Our hopes and dreams are definitely hidden under those piles of laundry, but what else? Maybe I’ll find my pre-baby jeans and ability to stay awake past 10pm in there too.
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