Okay, then
When I came downstairs this morning, crabby and bleary-eyed, I found the living room lights on. On the kitchen table sat two syrupy plates and on the counter was a thawing box of waffles, and open peanut butter jar and the almost-empty syrup bottle. Clues.
I am always the first person up in our house--except on Saturdays when cartoons beckon and the kids don't want to waste a second of their day-off sleeping. So, what did this mean: the lights, the limp waffles, the sticky plates?
One of the twins woke up at 5:00 a.m. (or 6:00 a.m., it depends who you ask) and couldn't sleep, so he woke up his brother and they had breakfast. Then they played their Gameboys. Normally, I have to coax them out of bed at 8:30 a.m., sometimes 9:00 a.m.
When I walked into the laundry room to start my first load of the day, I found my gigantic freezer standing with its door open, counteracting the furnace. The boys sneaked freezer-pops last night and didn't push the door closed behind them. A puddle had already formed on the floor and the turkey I had stashed for Christmas dinner was already mushy.
That's why there is a chicken in the crockpot. That's why we're having turkey on Sunday night. That's why I have a plastic container full of freshly cooked chicken tenders. That's why I'm defrosting my freezer--with its lentils and oats now utterly unfrozen and destined for the trash. Is it serendipity that my boys left the freezer open on the night before the night before trash-day? Indubitably.
I will start the new year with a cleaned out freezer, like it or not. Sometimes a girl just has to be forced into facing the drudgery.
Last night, I spent hours, literally hours, reading my blog. How self-centered, right? Well, my search was threefold:
1) Find blog entry which might be editable into something for the newspaper column try-out;
2) Get inspiration for annual Christmas newsletter;
3) Discover if I have, indeed, portrayed my husband as a "boob."
After reading from January to September, I must report that my search was two-thirds successful. I found several entries to edit, rearrange, fix and send off to the newspaper, there to be soundly ridiculed and rejected, just in time for my fortieth birthday. I also found very few references to my husband, and none that seemed to me to color him with a boobish brush. I do take my readers' comments seriously and was distressed to think that I had somehow inadvertently made my husband seem like a dorky character on a sitcom. But I don't see it, so I shall shake off the dismay and carry on.
Unfortunately, I did not find inspiration to write my annual Christmas letter, so this year--as I do every year--I will just write and hope for the best. People tell me throughout the year how much they look forward to reading my Christmas letter and for that reason, I worry that this year's letter will be a failure, a flop, a boring ramble through a dull year. I fear that people will roll their eyes and tear up my missive.
Besides that, procrastination cripples me.
Want to know what's funny? I was just interrupted and when I went through the laundry room, I noted that the top shelf of the freezer is still coated with a thick layer of ice, though the rest is puddlish and damp. I puzzled over it for a few seconds and then went DOH! I never unplugged the freezer when I began defrosting it this morning under duress.
I am so sequential that if I jump into the middle of a task, sometimes I forget the first step. For instance, if I were going to defrost the freezer without being prompted, I would first unplug it. Then I would open and unload it, then put towels to catch the drainage, etc.
Today, it was open, so I just put down towels to sop up the water. It never even occurred to me to unplug it. Who's the boob now?
I am always the first person up in our house--except on Saturdays when cartoons beckon and the kids don't want to waste a second of their day-off sleeping. So, what did this mean: the lights, the limp waffles, the sticky plates?
One of the twins woke up at 5:00 a.m. (or 6:00 a.m., it depends who you ask) and couldn't sleep, so he woke up his brother and they had breakfast. Then they played their Gameboys. Normally, I have to coax them out of bed at 8:30 a.m., sometimes 9:00 a.m.
When I walked into the laundry room to start my first load of the day, I found my gigantic freezer standing with its door open, counteracting the furnace. The boys sneaked freezer-pops last night and didn't push the door closed behind them. A puddle had already formed on the floor and the turkey I had stashed for Christmas dinner was already mushy.
That's why there is a chicken in the crockpot. That's why we're having turkey on Sunday night. That's why I have a plastic container full of freshly cooked chicken tenders. That's why I'm defrosting my freezer--with its lentils and oats now utterly unfrozen and destined for the trash. Is it serendipity that my boys left the freezer open on the night before the night before trash-day? Indubitably.
I will start the new year with a cleaned out freezer, like it or not. Sometimes a girl just has to be forced into facing the drudgery.
Last night, I spent hours, literally hours, reading my blog. How self-centered, right? Well, my search was threefold:
1) Find blog entry which might be editable into something for the newspaper column try-out;
2) Get inspiration for annual Christmas newsletter;
3) Discover if I have, indeed, portrayed my husband as a "boob."
After reading from January to September, I must report that my search was two-thirds successful. I found several entries to edit, rearrange, fix and send off to the newspaper, there to be soundly ridiculed and rejected, just in time for my fortieth birthday. I also found very few references to my husband, and none that seemed to me to color him with a boobish brush. I do take my readers' comments seriously and was distressed to think that I had somehow inadvertently made my husband seem like a dorky character on a sitcom. But I don't see it, so I shall shake off the dismay and carry on.
Unfortunately, I did not find inspiration to write my annual Christmas letter, so this year--as I do every year--I will just write and hope for the best. People tell me throughout the year how much they look forward to reading my Christmas letter and for that reason, I worry that this year's letter will be a failure, a flop, a boring ramble through a dull year. I fear that people will roll their eyes and tear up my missive.
Besides that, procrastination cripples me.
Want to know what's funny? I was just interrupted and when I went through the laundry room, I noted that the top shelf of the freezer is still coated with a thick layer of ice, though the rest is puddlish and damp. I puzzled over it for a few seconds and then went DOH! I never unplugged the freezer when I began defrosting it this morning under duress.
I am so sequential that if I jump into the middle of a task, sometimes I forget the first step. For instance, if I were going to defrost the freezer without being prompted, I would first unplug it. Then I would open and unload it, then put towels to catch the drainage, etc.
Today, it was open, so I just put down towels to sop up the water. It never even occurred to me to unplug it. Who's the boob now?
posted by Melodee at Wednesday, December 15, 2004
6 Comments:
I don't know; I think re-reading your own blog is something akin to poring over the family photo album. It's a great way to reflect on where you've been.
Although I haven't been reading long, I think you said just the other day that your husband sings around the house and makes up his own words (if not, forgive me). Well, if that's true, I think him a mighty fine fellow indeed, for I tend to do the same although less than I used to.
You use "boob" to describe people like "boob" is a bad thing. ;)
I think all kids leave the freezer door open at least once in their childhood. My son, being an only child, traitorously blamed it on his friend who had been visiting. Personally, I was grateful for the impetus to clean it out.
AnvilCloud, I like your take on blog re-reading. Explains why it usually feels good to do it. :)
The only boob is the person who told you that you make your husband seem like a boob. One cute thing for your newsletter could be about Babygirl singing the Barney song ..."happy falimy" cause that is just downright adorable. Good luck with the newspaper thing, as a local, I would look forward to reading.
You know I just went back and reread 2 months of posts.
I often thing I suck and I feel stilted when I write.
I was pleasantly surprised to see I don't suck as much as I thought.
It's good to go back and look with a new perspective.
Stop worrying so much about what people say. Stop. Who cares if they think you portray you hubby as a boob?
Michelle
Newbie here. Just to let you know, I am less than the perfect housewife also. As a matter of fact I have been doing it for four years, and have completely decided the SAHM scene just ain't working, so I'm seeking at least part time employment.
I too do most of the cleaning and cooking. Hubby has in the past been "domestically challenged" and reminiscent of his bachelor days he really just didn't seem to care. Now chaos drives him up the wall, and with three kids all under the age of four, he has quickly learned that if he needs something to eat he has two hands. If clothes need to be washed, he has a brain to figure out how to work the washer. If two kids have poopy butts, mommy can only handle one at a time, so if he can't tolerate the smell then he needs to suck it up and help with one of them to eliminate the offensive odor more quickly. I'm a sucky housewife, I can't be superwoman and be everything to everyone.
I guess that means that my family will just have to accept and love me as I am, and help pick up my slack, as I help pick up theirs. That's what a family is supposed to be. It does irritate me slightly that your dear hubby made sarcastic comment about not having clothes. After all when he's sick does he not stop to rest, and does he get criticized for it? Just a small irritation with me. Us mom's are human too, but nobody ever let's us have a day off unless we are laid out in a hospital hooked up on oxygen, and having a blood transfusion. Even then we might receive some complaint that there's nothing in quick in the freezer to cook for dinner.
Blogging is my tenuous hold on sanity. I don't let myself feel guilty for it in the least. Neither should you. This is the only reason I accomplish as much as I do, otherwise I would be reduced to a ninny whimpering in the corner and begging to be checked into a mental institute simply to have a vacation.
Square1, thanks for your great comments. I don't think I described the interaction between me and my husband very well, because it was actually very lighthearted and funny to me. We have a sick sense of humor. Anyway, thanks for reading and commenting. (By the way, I ironed 4 pairs of pants the other night at 11:15 p.m. I was done before David Letterman came on.)
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