I fed the kids and ate breakfast. I exercised. I took a shower. I put one daughter down for a nap and brushed the other’s hair. After setting her down to play with “claydough,” I left my daughter upstairs while I hauled the laundry downstairs, sorted it, and started a load. I refilled the oxi-clean and broke down the box to recycle. As I shoved it into the box of cardboard, I realized it would probably be a good time to take some of the recyclables out to the garage. I glanced over my shoulder and noted that after that I should probably do the dishes while prepping for dinner later.
Then I stopped.
It’s not like I hate having the chores done, but I needed to ask myself why I had the overwhelming inclination to do them all now. I’ve been looking at that overflowing bag of glass recyclables for at least a week and a half, knowing they’d need to go out soon, but not feeling like doing it. So why now?
I looked into the dining room where my daughter sat, “wrapping” her cookie cutters up in playdough. On the other side of her was my computer.
I thought, “Am I avoiding writing?”
That was exactly what I was doing. In the back of my mind, I knew I didn’t have anything to post today, and I didn’t feel like sitting down and getting to work. My chores were also work, but it was like they were all uniting together against a common enemy.
The job that I love shouldn’t be an enemy. Just because I might not have an idea of what to write about at this very second doesn’t mean I won’t ever have an idea. And who knows, maybe I’ll get one while doing all the chores.
At least this way they’re getting done.