It's My Couch

I had a friend ask me this morning how I find time to blog. Yes, it's true that I don't have time to do laundry or fix myself lunch or clean the playroom or vacuum the kitchen, but I'm realizing that I will FIND time to blog. What initially started as a way to keep in touch with family and friends has evolved these past few days into something else.

Even though my job is the most important job in the world, most days I feel that I don't have much purpose. What will I put on my next resume? From 2003-2009 I completed laundry tasks, implemented a diapering system, performed kitchen duties-- somehow I don't think an employer will be too impressed. Yet these past couple of days, I have been forced to find something interesting to share. I actually do a lot every day; most days I just don't feel like it.

Perhaps it's allowed me to see humor in things that initially annoy me. For instance, before friends came over for dinner last night, Jonah had decided to smear poop all over the couch, and when I was trying to clean it up, he sprayed 409 cleaner all over his neck, face, and shirt since the plumber (a whole other story) hadn't shut the cabinet with the child proof lock properly. In the midst of cleaning the couch, putting Jonah in the bath before the cleaner would chemically burn his skin, setting the table, and preparing for our friends to arrive, I immediately started thinking, "This is a great story for the blog."

So why do I find the time?

It's therapy. It's my brown leather couch.