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Broke Wife, Big City
We’re all just glorified end tables
By Aprill Brandon
I’m not sure when it happened exactly but at some point in my parenting
career, I went from being Mom to Glorified End Table. Cause that’s
pretty much all I do now. Just hold my children’s crap for them.
Backpacks. Sippy cups. This cool leaf they found on the ground.
All in all, it’s not a bad gig. Much better than when they used me as
their Glorified Couch. Or when they were babies and I was merely a
Portable Buffet Table. But there are some downsides. Such as how long I
have to hold these items. Which is apparently forever.
Did I ever think I’d wake up one day as furniture? No. Truthfully I
wanted to be a writer when I grew up. But it’s hard to type when you’re
holding three very important pinecones and a hoodie and a blueberry
muffin with two bites taken out of it. A muffin they INSIST they will
finish. Eventually. Probably before they go to college.
So I’m doing my best to settle into this new role of mine. My dreams
can wait. Especially since this used candy wrapper isn’t going to hold
itself, now is it?
Plus, I mean, if I’m not going to do it, who will? The kids? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would THEY hold their OWN crap?
I did try it once though. Making them hold their own belongings. Back
when I was still Mom. And then we immediately turned around after
getting home to go right back to the park and grab the mountain of
stuff they left there. Oh, sorry. Correction: The mountain of stuff
they left lying in a mud puddle there.
It was soon after that that I metamorphosized into the end table. (Eat your heart out, Gregor Samsa).
Oh, I can’t tell you the sheer number of things I’ve had to hold for
them. Half drank water bottles. Hats. Sunglasses. Baggies of Cheerios.
Wet socks. What turned out to be a dead cricket. A water gun that they
definitely stole from someone. Rocks. So many rocks. An entire
menagerie of stuffed animals. Half eaten lollipops. Every single
dandelion that grew in our neighborhood.
Then there were the three dozen acorns they acquired when we went
camping in New Hampshire. Each one as precious and unique as a diamond.
And yes, they knew if I tried to nonchalantly drop a few to make it
easier to carry.
There were the shells from that time we went to the beach. Enough to
decorate the bathroom of every single beach house on the east coast.
And, my personal favorite, the giant bags of cotton candy they JUST.
HAD. TO. HAVE. but (surprise!) didn’t eat so I carried them around a
street fair in 90 degree temperatures for four hours.
Of course, just like any reliable piece of furniture, there’s been some
wear and tear. The rings alone. Mostly under my eyes. Plenty of dents
and scratches. But it could be worse, I suppose. Daddy, for instance,
woke up one day as Mobile Playground.
Luckily, I have many parent friends who also double as Glorified End
Tables and who are happy to help out and hold my stuff so I can hold my
children’s stuff. Of course, then another parent/end table has to then
hold THEIR stuff, which is mostly their children’s stuff, so they can
hold my stuff so I can hold my children’s stuff and so on and so on in
one giant Russian Roulette game of crap-holding.
But that’s why they say it takes a village to raise a child. Although a
more apt phrase at this point would be that it takes a furniture store.
And so, in conclusion, that’s why adults are allowed to drink alcohol. Now, can someone get me a straw? My hands are full.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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