… a furtive finish

I have no problem giving credit where credit is due, (because it will pay off when I start my next project) but I would also like my share of the accolade. I want credit for the vision—for having the idea, and it would be nice if I could be praised for starting the project, but most importantly, I want recognition for my furtive finish.

To me,
I’m stuck with the laundry tonight, because in spite of everyone’s best attempts at helping with housework, washing clothes does not constitute doing laundry—it’s doing the wash. Somebody still has to finish the rest of the task by drying, folding and putting it all away!
From the land of the lonely, Terina

I’m the furtive finisher of projects unnoticed, bulb planting, sock sorting, money laundering, and bathroom cleaning.[1] The family sees the results and attributes them to mythical creatures: Mother Nature, the Sock Wizard, the Tooth Fairy, and the Scrubbing Bubbles. When there are no fantasy characters to thank, they blame the figments of their own imagination: “I really thought these pants were missing a button,” or “…I swear my shoes were hanging by their laces on the banister.” “Wow, this house is magic.” “I looked, and looked, and this morning, there it was, the missing object, right in plain sight.”



It makes me frustrated to hear, “… well, the last time I saw them, my schoolbooks were caught in the cobwebs of my ceiling. I must have imagined it!”[2]





Imagine that! I will deal with it—for now, but I await the moment when the myths of youth will be exposed, when the book is published and everyone has proof that I am a finisher.



In lieu of that, these and other fairytale truths will be revealed to the children when they leave for college and the chore-girl fairy flits away.



To myself,
After beginning the thirteen morning chores, I abandon the dishes to undertake the newest task. I dress, look for tools, locate the earplugs and the child. Then I string the extension cord, prune one bush, and the electrical cord. I repair the cord then short out the electrical box, relocate the child, transfer the car seat, buy gas, refill the other machine and then prune for two more minutes. I stop to eat lunch, add to the pile of dirty dishes, remove the pruning saw from the hands of the child and trim the side bushes.



Out of gas again, I spy the newest child catastrophe through the front window and frustrated, I prune my thumb with hand-trimmers and abandon everything to drive to the doctor for stitches. Ouchee, T.

It’s the nature of being a multi-tasker that ruins my reputation as a finisher, because right in the midst of it all, the first big job appears to be left incomplete. But at some point, usually in the dark of night after everyone else is asleep, I wrap up the original thirteen tasks. When it’s all said and done, wouldn’t you say that overall, in the big picture, I am a finisher? That’s my newest great hope.

Reality Bite: …in a perfect world, but that’s life.
[1] I’m also the finder of the lost, but that has to wait for the next book.
[2] More to come in book three, Committed: A Parent’s View—Out (not a shameless promotion, but incentive for me to finish writing it.)