Sprummer

Is that what you call spring when it's acting more like summer?
You should.

Bum.
Is that what you call me when I don't act at all because I'm too hazy, hot, and humid?


You should not.


I can think of a million and eight reasons (OK, that's way too many and there's no way I'm thinking that many thoughts on a day like today...but I CAN think of eight and if I try real hard I might even get their names right) why I find it impossible to put away laundry or keep the kitchen floor clean or finally put away  the baby gate that has not been used for three months and never used effectively.


It's just not that sort of a day/week/month.


It's the sort of a day when you sit outside, listening to your husband finish the trim on the chicken coop while you knit/unknit the same 8 rows three times before you figure out a way to convincingly fudge that tricky row. And the sweat from the unceasing sun drips down your back and you feel that you must have really done some sort of work that counts because you have the sweat to prove it!


Why do I have time to knit/unknit 8 rows but not time to put obsolete baby gates away?
You ask too many questions.


This weekend we had an overnight guest. Overnight guests always make me aware of how ... odd ... and lazy ... and random our household must seem. (Only seem, of course. Of course!) There is the inevitable clash between the way things work here and the way they work in the rest of the world, a clash of which I am usually happily oblivious. (Did you swallow the end of that last sentence? I can't keep it down!)


I don't know why, but I am always at my messiest when we have overnight guests. This is more than just a convenient excuse; it's also the truth! I don't know if it's because my subconscious relies on the extra hands for help or if it's that I figure they've seen the real us so why bother with the pretense of order or if it's the business of entertaining.


And I pondered all of this as I sat and knit and unknit and sweated. Wait...is sweat a regular verb or irregular?

There's just only so much time in a day. And maybe that's part of it. Maybe I don't want my guests to see me picking up dawn to dusk and yelling at kids to finish your chores finish your chores finish your chores and calling my husband to say, "Your kids are driving me crazy!" and threatening that you are not eating ANYTHING AT ALL until that trash is taken out!


Maybe instead of doing away with the pretense, I am fully engaging it: I want you to think that none of this external stuff is important to me. I want you to think that my children have a perfectly happy mother who can sidestep the clutter and sing through the whining.


Hmm. I do believe I'll ponder that for the next eight rows of knitting. You know, right after I put that gate away.