Working At Home With Kids = Mental Freeze

Summer’s great, isn’t it? Sun shines almost every day, pool is ready when the heat hits, and there’s no rush to do homework or assignments or projects other than maybe to read a good book. So suck on a watermelon and relax.

Right.

Summer’s fucking great.

Meanwhile, this working-from-home, gas-saving, green-living mama can’t get a goddamn thing done with all the relaxing going on around her.

Dad retired early thanks to a shit economy and fewer hours at work. Mom has been retired for over a year now. Add in two soon-to-be fourth graders and this little house is feeling smaller by the minute.

I know, I know. Husband is no longer commuting and we should really be getting a place of our own. The conundrum? Free babysitting and my mom’s cooking.

Withdrawal’s a bitch.

Yet there is always a price to be paid, yo. In my case, it’s in the form of destroyed brain cells. Here is a sample of what I’m experiencing while attempting a deadline or two. Join me, won’t you? And try to keep up.

(I am typing. You know. Trying to earn a living.)

Oldest: Mommy, how much longer do I have to read?

Me: Five more minutes.

(More typing.)

Mom: Catherine, are you going to the family reunion in August?

Me: I think so.

Mom: Oh, I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to work.

Me: That’s okay.

(Slight pause. Too slight.)

Mom: Is Ann Marie going?

Me: I’m not sure, Mom.

Mom: Do you have her email address?

Me: Somewhere.

Mom: Will you send it to me?

Me: Sure.

(I spend the next few hours deleting all the mistakes I make while trying to talk, write, cut food, apply sunblock, argue with children over the need for sunblock, scratch my ass, and answer the phone at the same time.)

Dad: Where’s the goddamn ketchup?

Me: Sorry?

Dad: The ketchup. Where’s the ketchup?

Me: How should I know?

Dad: It has that shit you don’t like…I figured you might have thrown it away. Replaced it with something organic.

(I stare at the computer screen trying to block out the grumbling.)

Dad: Oh. Here it is. Behind the soy milk. Between the tofu, fruits, and vegetables, I can’t find a goddamn thing in this refrigerator. Who the hell ever heard of ice cream made with rice? That shit is unnatural.

(I continue typing for a few minutes. Two or three, tops.)

Youngest: Mommy, how much longer do we have to play outside?

Me: Half hour.

Youngest: I want to play on the computer…

Me: Forty-five minutes!

Oldest: I’m hot…

Me: An hour!

(I shut my eyes and take deep breaths. Back to work.)

Me: Will someone please turn down the television? Ellen is too loud and the boys don’t need to hear jokes about yeast infections. I answer enough questions about rape and murder thanks to your CSI marathons.

(Happy place, happy place, happy place.)

Mom: Catherine, do you know what’s wrong with the dishwasher?

Me: (into the phone) Hang on a minute, Boss. (I look up.) What, Mom?

Mom: The dishwasher is broken and I can’t figure it out…

Me: No, Mom. Sorry. I have no idea how to fix appliances.

Oldest: Mommy, will you wipe off the scratches on this disc? It keeps skipping.

Me: One moment, sir. (Putting the phone down and turning toward my son.) Mommy has told you at least 900 times not to interrupt when I’m on the phone.

Oldest: I’m sorry! I didn’t realize.

Mom: Who wants a mojito? Oh, you’re still working. Isn’t it five o’clock yet?

I value my mental health and my family’s physical safety. I really do.

Which is why I’ll be working at the office a bit more often over the next few months.

Suck on *that* watermelon.

Tags: working at home with kids