Seeing Eye to Ass

The other day I was in the midst of cavemanning my daughters' bedroom - bent over at nearly a 90 degree angle, arms outstretched, swooping stuff off the floor, feeling like a mix between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and a cavewoman (thus the name) - when my older daughter walked in and starkly questioned - "How come every time I walk into a room I always see your butt?"

This is not the first time this statement was posed to me. My dear co-blogger, Patti, while over at my house once, in the middle of one of her fantabulous stories, stops short and says, "I feel like I've been talking to your butt the whole time!" Indeed, she had. I was probably either busy cooking, preparing to cook, assembling a snack for the kids, cleaning, pouring wine, wiping up spilled liquids off the kitchen floor, chasing after the kids, picking up stuff OFF the floor, or some combination of all of the above.

Since then, I have paid more attention to how often I actually get to sit down and have a face-to-face conversation with someone at my house. It's not very often. They do, for the most part, end up having a conversation wtih my ass.

As I creaked into the standing position that day in their bedroom, one hand holding my lower back and the other hand holding the mound of junk I had collected from the floor, I shot her "the look." She knows "the look" very well. So well, in fact, that she turned with an "Okaaaaaaaayyyy," and walked slowly back out of the room.

Naturally, that propelled me into one of my many mommy monologues heard all too often before: Why can't you keep your room clean? Why don't you pick stuff up rather than walk over it? Why don't you teach your sister how to pick stuff up by setting a good example? Didn't I just put all of this stuff away? Why is there always junk on the floor? Why should I always be the one to do it? My back hurts!

Hey, you want answers?

Talk to the butt.

-Cathy