I Don’t Do Relief Society Well…

Bill’s Dinner’s Done Closed for Repairs by Heidi Robertson 7/13/2013

 Image

I’ve failed in domesticity

My parents tried to teach me

explicity

with fly swatters, wire brushes

bribes

Threating consequences

 

No matter how much crying

Half done pot and pan drying

I grew expert in the art of hiding

confiding in books and writing

Making myself scarce

Heir to Virginia Woolf

 

 

The Good Book says right there

“No unclean thing can enter…

My hovel is in trouble!

 

This I know

I put on shoes just to avoid injury

My daughter dropped some cherries

on a tile floor, cafe décor when we were out to eat…

Without a second thought

I picked them up, brushed them off

rinsed them in the fountain drinks

and popped them in my mouth

Delicious!

 

“This floor is cleaner than the one at home,”

I justify. No lie.

 

So I’ll come clean. 🙂

I do not give it weight, the proper presidence to cleaning.

What consolation does domestic servitude bring

that songs and chimes and wind outside

the door can not

or trills and thrills of words on paper don’t

promise to make me feel alive

 

Domesticity!

scratchy sieve grates sensitive skin

tries to keep me in

too much!

 

I won’t stand by

a snot nosed child pressed hard against the window screen

Smells like rain and calls to me

Remove the screen

skip away

 

Bad case of ADD I think

gets me ahead of children left behind

tending academic chores

worsens in selfish motives like two year olds at play

presents parental formulas for disaster

 

Exemplifying want for teenage daughters

what not to do

dropping feet of snow

rendering bedrooms unpassable

requiring chains and salt trucks

scoop shovels

county crews just to clear a dreadful path

Find me catching snowflakes on my tongue.

 

Perhaps the list’s too short.

I do the math.

Three things to do, well two 🙂

 

sweep while girls sleep

eat…cross out eat

WRITE

 

I eat a healthy diet of words but they’re still hungry

 

while culinary arts

throw darts at the refigerator

I shop for food just so I can fill the box, then throw it out

I grow mold

then in a week or two brood at meals and money lost

in fuzzy socks and gloves

tossed

throw it all away

 

Makes for happy magpies in the compost pile

but loud obnoxious bed partners

lacking snooze buttons

 

The other day I promised to make homemade

Mac N cheese, sure to please

only over cooked and fried the elbows

I give up. I need Alice from the Brady Bunch.

 

Wonder.

I fail at making jello.

Query how it’s done…..and done well too?

Even in Jurasic Park where velociraptors lurk

Cooks make short work of jigglers.

And those jigglers are amazing! How they warn of danger!

And stainless steel still stays shiny throughout the chase!

 

Perhaps it’s not my calling or my place

but still requires periodic maintenance

residence for admission

a precedence to hope to keep

Truth is…..to live requires food and eating.

You think?

 

And so my family is hungry

holding stock in cereal and fried eggs

Begging as I’m eating words like some bolemic tourist.

Excuse me while I gag….

I mistook my bathroom for the chicken coop

tooth paste droppings

and are those my hairy banty legs?  

No frills anyway.

 

I am a writer. Waitress on the side.

Tell Bill I might be in today…I just don’t know,

I’m writing.

 

 

 

 

 

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About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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