I’m getting ready to have a play date right now. A friend of mine is coming over. I know her peripherally from one of the schools I substitute at. I determined, since I don’t know her that well, that I need to clean my house before she gets here. I need to pretend that I actually don’t live like a college frat boy.
My son was baffled that I was actually using the vacuum cleaner. I think he believed (previous to this experience) that is was a statue that lived in our apartment.
I wish I were five years old again. I didn’t realize how good I had it. All my meals were cooked for me, I was hugged constantly, I got consistent nap time every day, and I never had to pay bills.
I despise responsibilities. I hate pretending to be mature, when inside I am whining “Why do I have to do this?”
My son doesn’t realize how good he has it.