Satisfaction

I finished off the last of four night shifts at work and I discovered something about myself that surprised me immensly. I like chores. (It's O.K. Mom, remember to breathe.) At the end of a rotation of night shifts staff are expected to change the bedding and wash it. I finished quite quickly and realizing that there was more staff laundry in the dryer, I pulled that out and folded it too. Very satisfying. So, why is my house such a disaster? Why do I cringe at the idea of dishes, laundry, sweeping, and mopping in my own home? I think it's interupted housework that I despise. It makes me crazy when I have just filled the sink or gotten a load of laundry out of the dryer and someone calls "Mom!" Or spills something. Or poops. Or wants to nurse. Or lets the wrong cat out. Or hits their sister. It never fails. Just when I get in the groove, distraction rears it's adorable little head. It's a good thing it's adorable, or I may have gone crazy by now. (no, I have not already gone crazy; I was born like this. It's genetic.) This is one of those moments a grandmotherly type person would remind me that childhood doesnt last, and I will miss the distraction when it's gone. Fine. True enough. But there are still dishes sitting in the sink now. :P