Load dishwasher. Unload dishwasher.
Wash laundry. Fold laundry. Put laundry in drawers.
Dust. Vacuum. Sweep. Mop.
Clean bathroom. Four year old uses bathroom. Clean bathroom again.
Pick up toys. Pick up toys again. Tell four year old to pick up toys. Wait. Pick up toys again.
Make breakfast. Do dishes. Make lunch. Do dishes. Make dinner. Do dishes.
I am not a domestic goddess. I'm more like a domestic troll. Short, chubby, and slightly bitter as I shuffle about my duties. I read the Facebook post of some of my more domestically inclined friends. They relish this job. They vacuum daily, make their own laundry soap, scrub their baseboards weekly, dance to Yo Gabba Gabba with their kids, and still have time to make a three course meal. I read this with awe and jealousy mixed with a hint of a snarl.
I recently read an article that said a real woman understands the importance of her role as the domestic keeper of her home. She appreciates and fulfills... Blah blah blah... (Insert eye roll here). You see, I understand the importance of my role. I will aggressively attack all the chores listed above. I just won't do them with a saccharin smile on my face, heels on my feet, and pearls around my neck.
And yes, this was written in a stunning display of procrastination. I guess I should start those chores now....