Being a Stay At Home Adult is like doing a pirouette on quicksand. You keep spinning in circles while sinking deeper and deeper into muck, and can only hope that you did it with grace. 

I’m not talking about being a Stay At Home Parent. A parent continues to be a parent, working or not, at home or not. I’m talking about being Keeper of the Cage that houses the beasts. 

On most days, the cage is the beast, roaring its endless tantrums of needs and wants; like today. I gently brush its golden floors, while a fresh coat of dust instantly settles behind me and a forgotten trail of chocolate milk invites yet another colony of six-legged friends to a feast. The greedy kitchen sink can never have enough, so I feed it an array of turmeric-stained vessels at a maddening pace. I simmer down the hot flashes of my hormonal stove and hope today’s flavors swing my way because I just heard the bathroom break down and cry. I rush to mop its tears and the rubber dinosaur attacking a plastic blue jet in the puddle revealed the culprits. To say nothing of the overweight air-conditioners in the bedroom that snore so loudly they startle my babies while they nap.

I am the keeper of the cage. I am afraid of animals: silverfish, velociraptors, humans and all; I do not understand them. But I must keep on feeding and mopping and hugging and simmering. I must keep on dancing with muck in my ears, till I find that #$@! magic wand lost in the sand.

 

 

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