Kid Rock getting back to his gospel roots:

What the Heck Was I Doing?

I ran toward the kitchen not long ago, tilting at full speed. My heart was racing, my brow was sweating and as I rounded the corner, I breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to do whatever it was that I was about to do, all thought processes left me.

I knew that I had something to do there and that it probably was crucial that it was done. I’d just gosh-darned wished that I could have remembered what it was.

Life ain’t easy for a gal such as myself. Although I pay attention to detail and live a purpose-driven life, it would seem that more often times than not, I arrive at the bedroom door and can’t recollect why I’ve come.

I’m great at paperwork, fast at grocery shopping, and can make a hundred different things with a simple pound of hamburger. In fact, I feel it bears mentioning that I am currently the only staff member in the house-wide organization who has the ability and agility to put a fresh roll of toilet paper on the spindle.

Still, I often times stand in my foyer and wonder to myself where it is that I was going. And why am I holding a bowl?

Take last Thursday for instance. Thursday was to be a "day off." The bills were sort of paid, the milk containers were full, and best of all, there would be no ticket taking sporting events on the agenda for the next 24 hours.

I’d imagined I’d get up early and get a jump-start on the day. Perhaps I could get the laundry done, clean the house and coordinate my closet. I could vacuum the rugs, alphabetize my recipe box and have enough time left over to re-upholster the kitchen chairs.

Looking back, I suppose I never should have stretched as I was getting out of bed. Stretching only causes one to look up, and while one is looking up, one tends to notice cobwebs. And since my Thursday wasn’t overrun with errands and commitments, it was as good a day as any to knock those bad boys down.

Heaven forbid I should fetch a broom in bare feet. So I ventured off to grab my slippers and make certain that my pups remained comfy on the journey to the mud room.

Who knew one’s shoes could be in such disarray? Although we weren’t boarding Noah’s Ark, surely it would only take a minute or so to place my footwear in groups of two. I’d just started organizing when I recalled something I’d read in a magazine that involved shoe shelves and doilies.

How cute would that be? And what with a day off and all …

Next thing I knew, I was off to find the magazine with a picture of the cute darn shelves when it dawned on me that I’d not yet had my morning coffee. Well, we all know that nothing stimulates creativity like a good morning cup of joe.

I made my way to the coffeepot in short order only to discover that some ignoramus had spilled coffee grounds all over the cupboard. I went to the closet to retrieve the Dust Buster and saw that no one, but no one, had hung up a coat for more than a month.

Well, if a woman such as myself doesn’t hang up the coats when the opportunity presents itself, then what is the world of organization coming to? I was making a mental note to give my family a coat-hanging demonstration when I noticed that there wasn’t a gosh darned hanger in sight. I headed to the kid's closet to get hangers and it was then that I saw the Monopoly game spread out all over the living room floor.

“Who,’’ I asked myself, “leaves a Monopoly game strewn all over the floor?’’ I was left with little or no choice but to pick up the game before I tripped on the board and took a ride on the Reading. As long as I was making the journey, I might as well grab ALL of the toys, shoes and garb that littered the way. Why not tidy his bedroom while I’m there, scrub the walls, throw in the towel, and while I’m tossing towels, why not take a few minutes to wipe down the washing machine?

Next thing I knew, I was running into the laundry room, heart racing and sweat on my brow. I was holding a magazine, a pile of hangers, the deed to Park Place and wondering why I’d come. I leaned into the washer and looked toward the heavens in desperation.

It was then that I noticed the cobwebs that had all but taken over the ceiling. Since I had a day off, I’d better take a minute and knock those down.

All I needed was a broom.

The U.S. Bank of Kimberly is closed.

It only seems like eight million dollars ago that I admired my son as he rode his cheap little Hot Wheel down the walk. He was so small back then, so innocent, so easy to please, and so gosh darned inexpensive.

Well, pass the time and check the bank statements, Honey, cuz those days are gone. Nowadays it costs us a small fortune every time the kid walks in the door and it costs even more money to have him leave. Everything he does in between coming and going pertains to money, relates to expenses or is down right costly.

Rather than view his parents as the people who sustain him with our life-giving forces, he sees us as an institution that allows him to walk in and make cash withdrawals at any time of any given day. I’m not even sure that he has an account with us. Yet, I know that he sees me as his own personal ATM because I think he tried to enter a pin number on my forehead last night.

To think we thought that we had put the big expenses behind us once he was out of diapers and formula.

What was once a delightful child that would wave at me from the bus is now a 6’ tall money pit who costs more to maintain than a ‘57 Chevy with a rusted out chassis. Instead of happy comments and witty replies, our child has taken to responding to every inquiry with, "I need some money." And with maybe a few grunts and ever suffering sighs interjected of course.

"What, no greeting?" I asked as he came in the other night and ambled over to the fridge.

"Oh, yeah," he responded, indicating that he was grateful for the reminder. Naturally, I assumed he’d remembered that he’d not extended an obligatory hello. But rather than address me with a happy greeting he simply said, "I need some money."

No matter the day, no matter the hour, any time I ask him, "Are you hungry," "How’s your hair?" or the ever-loving, "How was your day honey?" he’ll say, "Oh, that reminds me, I need some money."

It’s gotten so that we can’t afford to ask him how his day went.

Any fool with a fraction of a brain would suggest that the kid get a job. And although my husband and I may not be known for our brilliance, we do have a clue. We’ve requested that he remain employed and requested that he finance his own extravagances. But demanding that he spend his own money on his own expenses only caused him to get more creative.

"Well," he explained to us the other night with visual aids including pie graphs and flow charts, "The dog was sick and cost $250. Since my health is stellar, don’t you feel I deserve adequate compensation? And let’s just take a minute to look over the statistics that I’ve compiled, shall we? The data clearly shows that I’ve not only saved you people money with my good health and great hygiene but that I’ve saved you time and travel expenses by not making you drive me to the emergency room. While we’re on the subject of expensives in our family – what, pray tell, did it cost to get Harpo fixed?"

I’ve become so conditioned to handing him money that I pass out $5 bills even when he doesn’t ask. In fact, the other night when he asked me to help him find his shoes, I asked him what size bills he preferred. And instead of inquiring as to what he would like for supper, I’ve taken to asking him how he would like his change.

As if that weren’t bad enough, he came in the other night and requested several dollars to take a friend to a movie. Being a woman of sound mind and financial ruins, I flatly refused.

"Come on Mom," he said, "you can’t just cut me out of your life like this. "

"I’m not cutting you out of my life, I’m just telling you that you’ve got to learn the value of a dollar."

"Can’t you see how important this is to me? Surely there is something you could do to help? "

"Well, you could do what I do when I’m low on funds and the cash cow has been milked of its last quart. "

"What’s that?"

"I dump the vacuum bag and rummage the lint trap."

"How about if you rummage it for me?"

"How about not?"

"Come on Mom, take one for the team."

"But I don’t wanna play."

Before I knew it, we were emptying my wallet and I was trying to fish a quarter out of the lining of my purse. He walked away with my last penny and a smile.

Which reminds me, I need some money.