… do I only have to say “dinner’s ready” once, but “clean up your dishes” is a phrase I utter until I’m hoarse?
…is my husband able stay up late and earn mastery points by harvesting all sorts of Farmville crops, but he can’t seem to take care of our own Weedville out by the front steps?
…is my son Nick able handle his clean cup when it’s time to put it in his football pads, but thinks it is perfectly acceptable after practice to dig into his dirty pads, yank out the sweaty cup and hand it to his mother? While we are in line at California Tortilla. Because he has to “pee so bad, like a rainforest*”. And refuses to hold the cup while he pees because “after practice it gets all yucky from being near my sweaty ‘boys'”.
*I eventually figured out he meant racehorse. I already knew what boys meant.
…do stainless steel appliances look so nice? For 12 seconds. And then the fingerprints, smudges and smears seem a little less attractive, making you wish you hadn’t been such a sucker for the shiny new stuff that costs thousands of dollars.
…is it that my husband can remember the injury report of every player in the NFL as he pursues fantasy football league greatness and riches, but he can not remember which day — that he scheduled — the guy is coming to take down the old shelves and paint the 3 closets that are getting organization systems?
…do I look forward to getting up at 6:00am on Sunday morning to bake a cake, chocolate chips cookies, sugar cookies, and some peanut butter chocolate bars for our weekly football watching party, but find the thought of making dinner akin to torture?
…does the dog hear — from 100 feet away — the crinkling of plastic wrap as I release the deli cheese slices from their packaging, but ignores the sound the very expensive kibble hitting her bowl?
…is there no support group for those of us who can’t get a daily pedicure?
…do I allow myself to worry about this crap?