I can't sugar-coat this: I don't think I have the time to devote to
sixwords any longer. Perhaps that doesn't astonish anybody. I could
whip up a fluffy little sketch every week, but that gets old in a
hurry. I'd like to write some 'real' contributions, but I'm slowly
realizing that takes more time than I have. Sorry everyone! Perhaps
in the fall, perhaps not.
Kelly
Meditation on having only one bathroom
The light turns green. The door opens.
The gridlocked traffic moves:
a child walks out; a child possessively jumps in.
Toddlers are locked in or locked out.
Locked-in toddlers busy themselves
climbing the ladder of laundry,
endlessly trying to reach the knobs on the dryer,
or the knobs in the sink.
We are all unfriendly during long red lights.
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Meditation on the one bathroom also being the laundry room
You need to keep an eye on the luggage. It has a tendency to jump, full and dirty, up on the top of the washing machine and the dryer, despite the fact that that space is designated for clean laundry waiting to be folded.
The laundry multiplies, but inconsistently. When you try to keep on top of it, there is only a half to three-quarters of any given load waiting to be washed. Left unattended, though, it has the destructive tendency to form piles up to the ceiling.
The laundry waiting to be washed, whether on the floor where it belongs or the washing machine where it does not, does not care that there are children waiting to go to the bathroom. The laundry waiting to go into the dryer does not care either.
The only laundry that cares about the children in the bathroom is the clean laundry, piled high on top of the washer, which gleefully takes advantage of any child-produced opportunity to "accidentally tip over" in order to cover giggling children and babies and then commingle with the dirty laundry below.