Can I Sell My Kids for Toilet Paper?

Yeah. I said it. Maybe a nice, cushy roll of Charmin would actually LISTEN to me. Even if the conversation was one-sided, like most of my interactions with my children, the Charmin would at least serve a purpose.

Obviously I love my kids, etc. etc. and blah blah blah, but come one. Being trapped at home with our children comes with collateral damage. One of my friends said she woke up in a chokehold, her three-year old's arm around her jugular, screaming in her ear, "MOMMY! IT'S MORNING! IT'S MORNING! MOM, MOM, MOM, IT'S MORNING!!"

Our children can be downright obnoxious, but before all of this, we at least had an escape route. We had weekend drive-bys at the grandparents, hurtling the kids out of the car and taking off to do our grown-up shit. I have worked from home for the last few years, so I'm used to THAT part, but I have not had other creatures home with me during the day that need to be prompted with a cow prod to still get up, eat, shower, get dressed (no, pajamas are not an option Monday-Friday here), and get to work. And stay working. I sit them down with, I don't know, 3 pages of math problems that would have taken me all of 15 minutes to complete. An hour later each of them has finished one math problem, polished off at least 10 Oreos and is staring off mindlessly into space.

If I counted the number of times I leave my desk to put the kids back on track with their school work, or put on my IT hat to help them navigate their Google classroom environment, well, shit, I'd lose count, that's for damn sure.

I was holding it together until a few days ago, when I realized non-negotiables mentioned above were, to them, mere suggestions. How many times can I tell/demand/ask them to do whatever the hell it is they are SUPPOSED to be doing, only to be ignored?

Apparently my breaking point is 342. Finally, I had enough. I told them, "I quit! You're all so damn smart, make your own dinners. I'm done for the night." And then I promptly locked myself in my office for a couple hours and tried to catch up on work.

Did they notice? Please. They probably though I was doing a skit for YouTube. Maybe if my face was in the shape of an iPad or iPhone I'd have better luck.

I need an antidote to this quarinsanity. Usually that would be vodka, but is 10 a.m. too early?


Feel free to comment below with your daily/weekly struggles! What are you doing to stay sane? Vodka? Please tell me it's vodka.

DISCLAIMER: If you are offended by my idea of selling my children in exchange for a stockpile of Charmin (ultra soft, of course), then please feel free to unfriend me - on Facebook and in life. I won't be offended. Really. My husband tells me all the time I am an alien-robot hybrid with a cold, dark chamber where my heart should be.