Now that we're up to five humans, three dogs and two cats (plus two hibernating patio toads and hopefully some patio babies), it seemed like a good time to add yet another new member to the household.
This is bObi, which Ezra and Ike decided is a girl because "we need more girls for it to be fair around here." They enjoy chasing after her and feeding her various bits of trash.
Noah simply calls it the Chore Robot (as in, "Chore Robot! Over here! I dropped the pencil sharpener again"), so between that and all the demands/verbal abuse our poor Alexa suffers, I am growing vaguely concerned about the patriarchal/anti-feminist future of our robot overlords. Maybe I should lend them my pussy hat.
ANYWAY, you can probably imagine the pet hair situation around here, plus my children all constantly shed, but instead of hair it's just straight-up dirt. They bathe and shower nightly, we take our shoes off inside, and yet the path leading away from Backpack Mountain and Discarded Coat Canyon (aka our foyer) always looks like a goddamn dust bowl just blew through.
And for the first time in a long time, it's something I 1) notice, and 2) give a shit about.
This week I rearranged the living room and kitchen cabinets, purged the junk drawer and fridge, and bought pretty new dish towels, house plants and a robot vacuum.— amalah (@amalah) January 23, 2019
No, I am not “Marie Kondo-Ing.” I am “out the other fucking side of a 2.5 year major depressive episode-ing.”
I am (small voice) off both of my antidepressants (but am still medicated for anxiety and probably always will be), and I feel...really good. Great, even. I feel things again. I'm singing in the car and doing stupid dances with my kids again. I have energy and ideas and goals again.
(I also have like, 40 pounds to lose thanks to Lexapro, which was a literal lifesaver back in June but THANK U, NEXT is all I can say about it from a side effect standpoint.)
I'm still seeing my therapist, I'm still being super mindful and watchful and on high alert for any symptoms. (I typically get some seasonal bullshit in late March, around the anniversary of my dad's death, and I've been told to expect something similar once the attempt anniversary rolls around.)
But I'm also in a place where I can say, "You know what? Fuck all this sweeping and then forgetting to sweep and then feeling badly about the not sweeping. It's 2019, motherfuckers. Let's outsource this shit."
bObi does an amazing job at sweeping, but certainly isn't perfect. But the dumb things she does only make her more adorable and endearing, somehow. She gets stuck under a kitchen stool and merrily carries it around with her until someone has enough of hearing the legs screeeeeeeeeeching across the tile floor. She routinely pushes the pets' water dishes into different rooms and corners. She broke my favorite IKEA lamp. ("Bad bObI! Bad robot!" Ike shrieked at her in the aftermath.)
One time she got tangled in her own cord, unplugged herself and dragged her charging station around for awhile, and then beeped helplessly from the middle of the room because it was time to recharge and HELP HELP WHAT DO I DO?
Basically, if she existed in the WALL-E universe, she'd be the first robot to die off and get cannibalized for parts. And for that reason I am compelled to protect her at all costs.
(Similar to how I feel about this stupid baby, who is not-so-secretly my favorite. She spent last night trapped inside my underwear drawer.)
In addition to the aforementioned dish towels, I also bought a new potholder and hid it in a corner to see how long it took anyone to notice.
(Answer: Not too long, but luckily they get my sense of humor. "I love you too, Mom," Noah said with an eyeroll while packing the toaster full of waffles.)