Thursday, March 27, 2014

Step-skippers go to Hell.

Mr. MacLemore, my 8th grade Algebra teacher, said this the first day of school. It is the most true statement of life and I've held on to it. Most of the time, I don't skip steps. Sometimes, I do. But no one can tell me that I don't use Algebra everyday of my life. I use it EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Step-skippers go to Hell.

I skipped the laundry step last weekend. It was my birthday. Who cares? The whole house cares when clean clothes cannot be found anywhere. Not only that, but we were working off of the clean laundry that was still sitting in the baskets from the previous week.

This morning, The Rock Star blew a gasket because there were no clean white undershirts. Leaving him to choose from his collection of t-shirts. None of which satisfied him. He must have gone through 15 t-shirts, all the while slamming drawers, stomping around the house, huffing and puffing, yelling. This even-keeled man rarely gets angry, but when he's best to just relax and let him blow out the door in a rage. 

I couldn't find clean underwear that satisfied me, so I put on a pair that I hate and a black maxi dress. I wasn't mad at home, but I was mad at school. Wearing a pair of underwear that is not comfortable for a day of work made me tell my students "Find something quiet and productive to do, Momma's in a bad mood." And they did. The passionate choir director could not be found. The Rock Star was in a mood. I was in a mood. 

The Firstborn Child. She was happy as a clam. 

She has not been introduced to the Rule of Life that Balances Everything. Step-skippers go to Hell. 

I didn't do laundry - the one chore I love the most - and today was my Hell.

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