My skin starts to crawl at the first crash or bang. Shattering glass makes me nervous and edgy. The sound of crinkling paper or crackling plastic is irritating and migraine inducing.
However, being married to man I am and the parent to his offspring, has help me to deal with and learn to live with these sounds. It has become a reality of life. Not my ideal reality, but my reality none the less.
It won't change. At least not until I move into my condo with the jacuzzi, as I sometimes threaten to do when life with boys gets to be too much.
And therein lies the problem.
I'm a girl. I grew up with girls. I have girl friends. I only have sisters. My dad was the one outnumbered.
Now, I'm outnumbered. (However, if you count the cats, we're even, but Lucy isn't very loyal to the girl squad. She tends to go where the pets are. George is actually more loyal to our cause than she is! Moesha is kind of a jerk, militantly loyal to the team, but a jerk none the less. So really, the felines don't really help much to even the score.)
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my boys. And I love that Seamus is a Mama's boy. I am the queen. However, sometimes I get dethroned and overruled. And that is when the chaos gets to be too much.
I can deal with the pants all over the living room. (I even found a pair in the recyclables this morning!?)
I can deal with the coffee stains on the counters and carpet.
I can even deal with the tooth paste in the toilet(?!);Puzzling, but I can deal.
But, when all of these things occur all at the same time and then some, I start to lose my mind.
I've lived with girls and I've lived with boys. Girls can definitely be dirty and disgusting, but there is a certain line that I have found that tends to be crossed by the people with the Y chromosome.
Dry messes I can deal with, but wet messes tend to push me over the edge and the deamon that lies dormant within starts to rise from the ashes and flow like molton lava spurting out of a pressurized fire hose.
The hardest part of all this is that my dear, darling, intelligent husband and beautiful, smart and enormously gifted child, are clueless to my plight.
I beg, ask, plead, for mercy and cleanliness (at least one room) but the depth of my request falls on slient ears.
It must be that Y chromosome, because I truely don't have an answer.
So, when the choas overtakes my solitude, I escape to the codo with the jacuzzi in my mind. Sometimes it helps and sometimes the deamon visits for awhile.
It's how we deal.
Dry messes I can deal with, but wet messes tend to push me over the edge and the deamon that lies dormant within starts to rise from the ashes and flow like molton lava spurting out of a pressurized fire hose.
The hardest part of all this is that my dear, darling, intelligent husband and beautiful, smart and enormously gifted child, are clueless to my plight.
I beg, ask, plead, for mercy and cleanliness (at least one room) but the depth of my request falls on slient ears.
It must be that Y chromosome, because I truely don't have an answer.
So, when the choas overtakes my solitude, I escape to the codo with the jacuzzi in my mind. Sometimes it helps and sometimes the deamon visits for awhile.
It's how we deal.
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