On my way to becoming a neat, organized mother impersonator

I'm exhausted. For those who don't call motherhood/housewife-dom work, they need to walk a week in our shoes. I actually decided that I would try to achieve something this week, rather than sit on my lazy arse bemoaning the fact that the kitchen sink was overflowing with dishes, the hamper buried under a pile of clothing, and one could not make it to the bathroom without tripping over a toy. I've come to the conclusion that if and when I actually try, and mind you, not try that hard, I can actually get close to my ideal goal of being a neat, organized mother impersonator. Since I know that I can never actually be neat and organized because of some genetic defect or some chemical imbalance, I can only seek to impersonate.

I am a little obsessive with lists. I also defeat the purpose of completing tasks on such lists by creating new lists with the leftover tasks and then adding five (or ten) more. It's mind-numbing craziness. I should probably make an appointment with the head-shrinkers pronto (except they'd just want to drug me up, and pass that off as normal).

Today, I managed to make 100% whole wheat bread (sans bread-maker, mind you), roast a chicken, return books to library, and take 1/2 of recycling out (the dumpster was full, and who knows, I might need a box full of newspapers for something, right?). Then, at dinner, as husband was praising the chicken, I sighed, "I didn't get anything done today." He looked at me like he thought he should call the nuthouse, then proceeded to list my accomplishments. And good thing too, because now I can make a new list out of the leftover undone things I still need to do!

Later, sitting on the couch, while finishing up knitting a dishcloth, musing about a friend I have who seems amazing in her ability to be crafty, have a freelance job, teach her child sign language, making delicious gourmet-sounding meals frequently, all the while keeping up with her friends far and near (yes, A, if you are reading this, I'm talking about you). Where does one find the energy? I mean, seriously, how many cups of coffee will I have to drink? Apparently one in the morning for starters is not enough.

If all this work doesn't give us the right to be cranky, than what does?! I saw a mother last week who had just arrived at the grocery store, only to have her entire schedule rearranged because one of her children was acting, shall we say, poorly. Although I didn't like her tone, I felt her pain, and I could not judge. I would be a little p-o'ed too. And not like I haven't from time to time. Son's recently taken up whining...I just want to shoot myself in the head. And now that son's grasping the time-out concept, mommy's had her fair share (well, so has Blue Bear and Baby, come ot think of it).

In a few weeks, maybe a month tops, my cover should be complete, and no one will know I'm a poser. Well, except husband and son and anyone else who reads this...