Multitasking

Anyone who still thinks that staying home with your children isn't a real job is obviously a complete idiot.

Husband will grouse a bit about what goes on at the office - having to give the same instruction over and over again, having to mediate office squabbles (well, more like hide from them), working late, rewards few and far between, no time for lunch break, the boss pressuring about some overdue report, blabbityblabbityblab.

I listen, nod with sympathy. Then it's my turn. Yesterday I attempted to vacuum the house, Kye on my hip, Rascal sitting on my foot grasping my leg with peanut-buttery hands, both wailing because they hate the sound of the machine. Phone rings, I shlump over there still with both boys attached (still yelling). Like a total moron, I answer it even though I don't recognize the number on call display.

"Yaddayaddayadda war veterans blabbityblab?"

"Sorry, not interested," I holler above the boys' screeching.

"Oh, is this a bad time? When should I call back?"

"How 'bout never? Not interested, sorry."

"Well, don't you agree that our freedom has been provided at the cos--"

Can't say I didn't warn them. And anyway, if they can't deduce that I'm serious about this being a bad time to call, it's their own fault.

After vacuuming, it's potty-training session #4,523. Which pretty much goes as well as the previous 4,522 sessions. Bottom line: no peeing, lots of shouting, then escaping while Kye distracts and quickly run away and do our business on the carpet in Tweenie's room.

So eventually Husband comes home, the house is in shambles, barf on my shirt, Kye on hip clutching to bedhead hair, Rascal running around roaring like a dinosaur with his naked butt. Everywhere there are small signs that I was trying to make improvements, like the baskets of folded laundry, dishes drip-drying in the sink, the lawn mower and wheelbarrow sitting outside, the garbage can dragged halfway up the driveway, groceries half unpacked on the kitchen counter.

Then the phrase I never thought I'd hear him say: "What do you want me to make for supper?"

I almost fainted, I was so shocked. Someone once told me that it's best not to have everything looking perfect when the hubby comes home because it suggests that the job is much easier than it really is. Some days I do manage to have things looking tidy by 6 o'clock, and then he wonders why I pass out on the couch 15 minutes into "Deal or No Deal".

His job is very demanding; I would never assume otherwise. I'm just glad he notices that my day is busy too, and then I still pull nightshift.