Is that a metric measurement?

We are frequently quite rude to each other in this house. It's permitted and even encouraged as a creative outlet and method of communication. Extra points awarded for being able to laugh at yourself and use of innovative wit.

Take this recent exchange as an example.

Small Person (while trying and failing to measure something, tape measure snapping back and wacking her in the head): Mom, can you help me?
Rude Mom: Sure, Einstein, what do you need?
SP: I'm trying to measure, can you hold this end?
(now her finger is stuck in the tape measure)
RM: Measure what, your stupidity?
SP: No! You're so rude!

pause

SP: I would weigh that.

Could I get an 'amen' from the Bobbleheads?

What is the deal with having things to do? Everyone has things to do, errands to run, items to organize, domestic chores to do (or not), a life to run. Growing up on a farm in the Midwest we never felt the crunch to get a million things done; the pressure of an impending deadline by which all will be judged... You just did what you did and the rest didn't get done. No big deal.

Or maybe it was there and we were just too young to notice? No. I'm pretty sure our parents didn't feel it, either. So is this an East Coast thing, then? This driving force to get things done, list all your tasks (note my earlier post where I do exactly that), lament over things not done, agonize over what's next and how much there is to do!

It makes me tired to hear about it or read it. It's overwhelming to have such an impressive list of Everything That Needs to Happen. So much so that with a list like that in this house, Nothing happens. Well, maybe some nintendo would happen.

All I'm asking for tonight is some peace and quiet.

The insect noise is incredible here. The rain has stopped and everyone is out to play I guess. Upstairs I hear the noise of a small person moving around, using the bathroom again, fixing covers, complaining of the injustice of an imposed bedtime. Silence now, and sleep.

The television is on, but no one is watching it. The refrigerator runs, but no one is rummaging through it. Lights are on in unused rooms.

The Earner is back on nights. It's always an adjustment when his schedule flops, as it does every four weeks. The small person goes to bed earlier, evenings are more sedate after he leaves. We talk. We read. I impose the earlier bedtime. I enjoy this time as my own. Days are loud and alone time is hard to find. Things get done, the list is long. Nights mean time off from doing for others, nights are my time for me.

I sit and think. I probably think too much, sitting here with my imaginary friends and my tomato sandwiches. I think about choices and decisions and roads not taken. I think about the load of laundry I left in the washer. Will I remember it first thing in the morning? Should we try park day Wednesday again after last month's disaster? I need to remember to square off the Earner's sideburns as there wasn't time after today's haircut. I promised a trip to the big library after missing the bookmobile today. Could tomorrow be the day I get more tasks done than I add to my list?