If You Give a Mom a Coffee

It was just a typical morning of waking up, attempting to press the button on the Keurig, only to discover a mess I couldn’t leave alone. From there, it was just like “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” only it was “If You Give a Mom a Coffee.”

If You Give a Mom a Coffee

If you give a mom a coffee,
she’s going to want to add some milk.
When she fetches the milk,
she grabs a piece of fruit to eat with it,
and notices a spill in the fridge she has to clean.
She puts down the fruit by her coffee, and cleans the spill.
While cleaning the fridge, she remembers to take something out of the freezer for dinner.
She has to put the meat on the counter because the sink is too @&*#^@#$ full,
so she’ll have to load the dishes in the dishwasher herself,
because, apparently, everyone elses hands are broken and can’t do it themselves.
When she finally loads the dishes in the dishwasher to thaw the dinner meat,
she’ll notice the countertops could use wiping,
because no one can hit the bowl with cereal milk, or pour juice without spilling.
So she’ll wipe the countertops until she gets to the dinner table,
noticing breakfast crumbs, plates, and drinks were left, and it needs cleaned, too.
But she’ll trip over someone’s shoes that weren’t put away properly,
so she’ll pick them up to bring to the coat closet,
where she’ll find an array of worn socks on the floor of the closet,
which she’ll pick up and bring to the laundry room,
which reminds her to start a load of laundry for the day,
but not before hanging up several coats left on the floor instead of hung properly,
because, apparently, hangers are invisible.
After hanging the coats and loading the laundry,
she sees crumbs on the floor of the pantry and kitchen,
from wayward cereal out of the box, crusts of bread, and other festive leftover remnants,
so she gets the dustpan and broom to clean that up, too,
and steps on a fridge magnet that makes her cry out in pain @#*($&@#($&@!!
Before she’s done sweeping and wincing about her foot, a child appears wanting another breakfast,
she shooshes them for a moment so she can finish sweeping before fetching it,
but not before the baby starts playing in the swept dirt pile like confetti,
And she finishes sweeping to find her hungry, second-breakfast wanting child eating the piece of fruit she was to eat with her coffee.
Oh, yeah! Her COFFEE! The coffee that’s sat on the counter, getting cold all this time.
Now, what was she doing again?


Of the many messes I came across yesterday, this was one of the many:

Of the crumbs, the spills, the frequent rat-a-tat-tat one-after-the-next pleading of ALL the food in the pantry and fridge because everything looked good but nothing would suffice, I rarely sat yesterday (and already today so far). All I did was clean up, stop, pick up what I’d already cleaned up, begin cleaning again.. stop… and it didn’t end. It hasn’t ended.

Because, toddlers.

It was one of those days, friends.

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