– My iPhone has a cracked screen because C. Bear dropped it on the concrete a couple of months ago. That’s the 4th iPhone I’ve owned – each one is because Bear somehow managed to ruin the one before.
Yeah. I’ve had four iPhones in two years.
– I can’t seem to figure out how to make exactly the Christmas wreath I’m looking for.
You know, for the home that we own. Where we each have our own rooms.
– We used to have a pile of shoes right inside our front door, but a few months ago I found a decorative chest that is perfectly suited to hold shoes. After we come inside, I tell the boys to put their shoes in the “treasure chest,” and we no longer have random shoes scattered throughout the house. It turns out the treasure chest is actually too small to hold all the shoes and it’s constantly overflowing.
In case you missed it, my boys have too many shoes to fit inside a very large decorative chest.
– I’m always whining [at least in my head] about how tough it is to lose or maintain my weight through Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I love those seasons, but I also slightly dread the onslaught of caloric-temptations.
That’s right, I’m complaining about too much food, and having to not eat as much as I want of it. Too. Much. Food.
– Despite my preference for freshly ground coffee beans, I’ve had to buy pre-grounded coffee recently. The noise of the grinder tends to wake up the boys, and I just don’t want to take that risk most morning.
I know what you’re thinking. It must be tough to live in a world where you’re forced to drink already ground coffee just so your children can sleep peacefully. It’s brutal.
I’m ashamed to compare all the times I’ve complained in light of the plight of women globally. Some Mamas fear for their children’s safety on a moment by moment basis. Some Mamas lose their sons to militia where they’re taught to shoot and rape. Some parents aren’t sure how they’re going to feed their kids tomorrow, and some women live with the knowledge that they’ll never live long enough to see their children become teenagers.
And yet I am inconvenienced when a restaurant gets my order wrong, complain when I have to take my child to the doctor for an ear infection, and sigh when my boys won’t share their plethora of toys.
First world problems.