Counting

So, there we were, my Tween and I, standing out in the garage locked in a staring contest at 9:00 this morning while I counted in my head.

It all started yesterday when I told her to take out all the trash because today is trash day and I wanted it to all be ready.  We went out this morning to wrangle it all to the curb and there was trash everywhere in little grocery bags ... not in big trash bags.  I sent Pookie in to grab a trash bag and told her to pick up all the little bags and put them in it .. and that sometime today would be nice, since the trash-man is on the way and she is on permanent snail-speed when there are chores to be done.  She huffed and puffed and sighed and stomped around and stabbed things into the trash bag and complained about how heavy the small trash can that she uses for the cat litter that she has to clean out every day was (because she hadn't bothered to add it to the rest of the trash weekly and this was about a month's worth).  The bag she brought out was full and she assumed that meant she was done.  

I sent her back for another bag, which was met with more sighing, stomping, grumbling under her breath and, though it doesn't seem possible, an even slower speed setting.

She came back with the bag and just stood there, staring at me like she had no clue. 

I just stood there staring at her because .. Really?

Finally I said, "Are you going to just stand there?" 

She said, "Well I don't know what you want me to do with this."

Seriously?

So, I was counting and grumbling in my own head,

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Why, I want you to wear it on your head .. because what else would you do with a trash bag.

26, 27, 28, 29 When you are standing in the midst of a bunch of trash.

50, 51, 52 On trash day.

74, 75, 76  As the trash-man cometh? 

Counting to 10 just isn't enough ...