After buying a fifth wheel recently we have been pretty busy moving our things from the tiny house we’ve been living into our new (to us) RV. In fact, today we are finally finished. I’ve scrubbed the rental cabin top to bottom, and I feel a sense of relief and pride for a job well done. But yesterday? Well, that was a different story. Yesterday I felt kinda tense. That could be an understatement.
“I really don’t care right now!”
That’s what I had said to my husband when he tried happily to show me how to pair my Pandora radio on my phone to the new sound bar we’d gotten for the living room of our fifth wheel. He walked away silently, and I felt bad. I didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate him trying to give me louder tunes while I put dishes away. I just felt so flustered and overwhelmed by the moving and cleaning that was left to it. I apologized, he accepted it, and I went back across the street to our rental house. Really, the easiest move ever. Just from A to B.
As I later sifted through household items trying to decide where they should go I realized I better put the sodas in the fridge. I spotted my 5-year-old daughter dancing across the doorway and called out to her.
“Can you help Mommy?” I asked. “See those cans on the floor? Bring them over here.” I instructed, standing at the open refrigerator door.
No more than probably 30, maybe 45 seconds of waiting went by before I hurried my little one along.
“Hello?! Are you gonna help me or not?!” I questioned. In hindsight, in an elevated tone.
She looked back at me in surprise, then down to the drinks on the floor.
“Oh, never mind!” I yelled. “Don’t help me. Nobody ever does!”