I stared at the beagle. Mentally willing her to stop barking.
It didn’t work. I had met my match in the strong-willed department. She is a beagle, named Sami. She feels a need to bark at every moving object, from snowflake to rabbit. And this was a day for moving objects of all sorts. There would be no quiet. (I admit to considering a bark collar.. for just a few minutes, well maybe long enough to look them up online…maybe.)
I unplugged my lap top and took it to the family room looking for some quiet. There I found a teenager and college boy deep in “vent” conversation. They were arguing politics with the internets. It was not a battle that would end soon, or well. I hushed them and pointed to my laptop. They glared back and pointed at their headsets in a “We were here first.” international sign language of annoyance.
I stomped upstairs and headed for my bedroom. Maybe I’d be able to make my Skype call there. As I reached for the doorknob, I heard a familiar baritone voice. My husband had beat me to it. He was working from home today and was on a call of his own.
“Snow days should be illegal.” I announced, to no one in particular.
I considered locking myself in the bathroom (every mom’s last hope for peace) but ruled that out due to the tell-tale echo. (It’s just not professional to make a call from the bathroom- even if you’re not actually using it as designed.) I Headed back down the hallway. I opened the portal to a post-apocalyptic toy store scene- that is my youngest son’s room. I kicked (maybe not so gently) a few stuffed creatures from beside the bed and cleared a space to set down my laptop. I sat down on my knees, as if in prayer. Mostly because there wasn’t room to stretch out, I found myself surrounded by action figures, laundry and Lego’s: the trifecta of boy-messes.
I felt tiny shorkie licks on my left foot. I hadn’t closed the door quick enough. I’d been joined by Bella. My pup.
I ignored her. “At least she doesn’t bark.” I consoled myself, clicking the button to open my Skype application. I forgot that she scratches at doors when enclosed.
Which she started doing, just about the time my legs had fallen asleep and all of us on the call finally managed to login in to the same call at the same time.
“Well, it’s not as unprofessional as the tell-tale toilet echo.” I thought to myself, trying to concentrate. Which is difficult enough when I can’t hear: my husband’s voice in the room next door, the beagle barking in the distance, the raging internet political discussion- escalating and Yo-Gabba- Gabba blasting from the TV downstairs through the bedroom door.
I think we covered the agenda. Mostly.
Work at Home Moms-
- Have you lived out scenes like this?
- Where do you hide- for peace and quiet?
- How do you manage snow days summer vacations or days off of school?
- What has surprised you as difficult about Working From Home?