A Rambling Tale With No Point
My alarm rang at 5:00 a.m. and I slapped it into submission and slept until 5:10 a.m. I showered, half-dried my tresses, pulled on the clothes I'd draped on the exercise bike last night, wore glasses and a Mr. Rogers sweater. I drove to CuteBaby's house, arriving at 5:50 a.m. His mom had to go to her military job early again, just to check in. (No physical testing for her because she's still on the maternity plan.)
I was back home by 7:00 a.m.
By 7:30 a.m., I had baked my first pan of homemade chocolate chip cookies to satisfy Babygirl's directives: "I want cookies! I want cookies!" Frankly, I wanted cookies, too.
My very long day included:
--twin 12-year old boys who spent more time exchanging nonsense-talk than doing literature lessons;
--two and a half year old daughter who is still coughing, gagging and wiping snot on her sleeves;
--DaycareKid who is not catching on to potty-training (but, hey, at least I know now that he is not constipated);
--infinite laundry;
--really out-of-control, bad hair which I spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating today;
--and CuteBaby (but he took long naps today).
Oh. And a box came in the mail, which is generally cause for rejoicing. The box contained a giant, thick envelope from my mother-in-law. In the envelope were all the pictures I've sent her over the years (eighteen years, almost), including the sweet little Creative Memories scrapbook I made especially for her.
Only a few weeks ago, the same mother-in-law complained to me on the phone that I hadn't sent her any pictures recently.
You figure that one out. I called my husband and he suggested she was preparing to die, which is a fairly morbid thing to say, but that demonstrates his sick sense of humor which is primarily why I love him so much.
We've recently been cracking up at the song-list we're compiling for our imaginary twenty-fifth anniversary bash. (We hate parties. There will be no bash.) I suggested "Hard Habit to Break" and "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover." He chose "If You Don't Know Me By Now" and "If You Leave Me Now". We think it would be hilarious to have these types of songs playing continuously in the background as partygoers clutch non-alcoholic drinks and little paper plates holding slabs of Costco cake. This joke--this pretend song-list--will go on for months, maybe years.
I also love him because he brought me salad for lunch at 2:30 p.m. when he called and I complained that I hadn't had a chance to eat lunch yet. He brought Subway sandwiches for the boys' dinner. When he returned home at 5:30 p.m. to find Babygirl imprisoned in her crib throwing a tantrum while I chatted with CuteBaby's mom while she was picking him up--looking sweaty and disheveled, me, not her--he rescued Babygirl and she stopped crying long enough for him to transfer her to me.
After the switcharoo, she wrapped her sweaty arms around my neck and tried to steer me. No rocking chair. No kitchen chair. She insisted that I stand precisely in the center of the kitchen, no leaning on counters allowed. As you can imagine, this was great fun for me. Okay, it was annoying. My back began to ache.
My husband suggested he take her for a van ride, knowing she would scream, then sleep. That's exactly what happened. While I buckled her in, she threw a fit worthy of any child seen on Nanny 9-1-1. That's my sweetie-pie.
So the day ends. Mrs. Darling would be completely horrified if she saw the state of my carpets. She vacuums every day and once a week--ONCE A WEEK--she vacuums under all the furniture in her house (beds, dressers, everything). I am amazed, jealous and mostly, I wish I could hire her to be my Personal Vacuumer.
I want my floors to be vacuumed. I just want someone else to do it.
I am a horrible housewife. When I told my husband about Mrs. Darling's spic-and-span carpets and lamented about my own dismal housewifery standards, he said, "That's okay. I'm not a handyman, either, and you don't hold that against me."
And when I say, "I hate my hair! What shall I do with it?" He says, as if preprogrammed, "No matter what you do, I always like your hair."
He's a liar, but he's my liar and he makes me laugh.
I was back home by 7:00 a.m.
By 7:30 a.m., I had baked my first pan of homemade chocolate chip cookies to satisfy Babygirl's directives: "I want cookies! I want cookies!" Frankly, I wanted cookies, too.
My very long day included:
--twin 12-year old boys who spent more time exchanging nonsense-talk than doing literature lessons;
--two and a half year old daughter who is still coughing, gagging and wiping snot on her sleeves;
--DaycareKid who is not catching on to potty-training (but, hey, at least I know now that he is not constipated);
--infinite laundry;
--really out-of-control, bad hair which I spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating today;
--and CuteBaby (but he took long naps today).
Oh. And a box came in the mail, which is generally cause for rejoicing. The box contained a giant, thick envelope from my mother-in-law. In the envelope were all the pictures I've sent her over the years (eighteen years, almost), including the sweet little Creative Memories scrapbook I made especially for her.
Only a few weeks ago, the same mother-in-law complained to me on the phone that I hadn't sent her any pictures recently.
You figure that one out. I called my husband and he suggested she was preparing to die, which is a fairly morbid thing to say, but that demonstrates his sick sense of humor which is primarily why I love him so much.
We've recently been cracking up at the song-list we're compiling for our imaginary twenty-fifth anniversary bash. (We hate parties. There will be no bash.) I suggested "Hard Habit to Break" and "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover." He chose "If You Don't Know Me By Now" and "If You Leave Me Now". We think it would be hilarious to have these types of songs playing continuously in the background as partygoers clutch non-alcoholic drinks and little paper plates holding slabs of Costco cake. This joke--this pretend song-list--will go on for months, maybe years.
I also love him because he brought me salad for lunch at 2:30 p.m. when he called and I complained that I hadn't had a chance to eat lunch yet. He brought Subway sandwiches for the boys' dinner. When he returned home at 5:30 p.m. to find Babygirl imprisoned in her crib throwing a tantrum while I chatted with CuteBaby's mom while she was picking him up--looking sweaty and disheveled, me, not her--he rescued Babygirl and she stopped crying long enough for him to transfer her to me.
After the switcharoo, she wrapped her sweaty arms around my neck and tried to steer me. No rocking chair. No kitchen chair. She insisted that I stand precisely in the center of the kitchen, no leaning on counters allowed. As you can imagine, this was great fun for me. Okay, it was annoying. My back began to ache.
My husband suggested he take her for a van ride, knowing she would scream, then sleep. That's exactly what happened. While I buckled her in, she threw a fit worthy of any child seen on Nanny 9-1-1. That's my sweetie-pie.
So the day ends. Mrs. Darling would be completely horrified if she saw the state of my carpets. She vacuums every day and once a week--ONCE A WEEK--she vacuums under all the furniture in her house (beds, dressers, everything). I am amazed, jealous and mostly, I wish I could hire her to be my Personal Vacuumer.
I want my floors to be vacuumed. I just want someone else to do it.
I am a horrible housewife. When I told my husband about Mrs. Darling's spic-and-span carpets and lamented about my own dismal housewifery standards, he said, "That's okay. I'm not a handyman, either, and you don't hold that against me."
And when I say, "I hate my hair! What shall I do with it?" He says, as if preprogrammed, "No matter what you do, I always like your hair."
He's a liar, but he's my liar and he makes me laugh.
posted by Melodee at Wednesday, April 27, 2005
13 Comments:
I don't just need a Personal Vacuumer, I could use a Personal Housecleaner!
Keeping the house spic and span is not one of my better talents. And the sad part is that it is quite small, and still I can't keep it together.
Think of all the time that people who keep their house that perfectly clean must spend on that venture. Having slightly lower standard, gives you a lot more time to do things that are more meaningful to you. Anyways a little dirt is better for developing immune systems.
Oh, I LOVE your 25th anniversary bash ideas!
Imaginary parties are my favorite!
(please imagine that i am there, and that i got you a very expensive and wonderful gift that you always wanted! - oh, and since you are imagining, imagine me tall, thin, blonde and really rich!)
My wife and I were thinking of Looks like we made it.
By the way, try Zen vacuuming. Imagine that you're actually doing it.
No, no, don't imagine doing it, imagine that it is done and then go out for a walk or pick up a book.
The vacuuming will eventually get done it is the hair that really drives us crazy isn't it? I had a friend who was due for a haircut and she didn't know what to do with it. She asked her husband which way he liked her hair best - longer or shorter.
He studied her head, and hummed and hawed, and then turned to her with a serious look on his face and said
"Which way is it now?"
Isn't that a hoot? I still laugh about that one.
Oh Mell you are so funny. Let me clarify something here. I vacuum behind the furniture once a week downstairs and the next week upstairs. So a room only gets the thorough vacuuming once every two weeks. Don't worry about it. I'm the weird one. Even when I was a girl at home my mom used to say that if the house was on fire I'd grab the vacuum and try to clean before I ran out! LOL
I have a friend who has autograph parties. She and her husband were feeling sad that they didn't get to see their friends like they used to and she had no time or energy to clean so the autograph party was born. She invted all her friends to come over and autograph her dusty furniture. She now does them at least twice a month and her friends have adopted her idea and they all have a great time!!!
Come over sometime- I'll have to move the perpetual stack of clothes from the sofa for you to sit down but you're always welcome!
I love looking into your world. It's interesting and so different from my quiet world -- of just two doggies. I hear a few barks all day -- that's it.
However, I don't vacuum my house but once a week! And I don't vacuum under things but once in a blue moon and my house is clean.
After all these years though, the chores are just wearing me thin. I know you can relate!!!
When you get married, you don't realize you are in a contract to maintain a house for the next 50 years. Whew!!
Huh uh, no vacuuming under the furniture for me. That reporter may have noted that I have an "immaculate" apartment, but I am a surface cleaner. Pick up the cushions on the couch and you will find crumbs or hair things. I don't care, you can't see it. Vacuuming once a week AROUND the furniture is enough for me.
And I love that soundtrack for your party. I wish you would have it, because how amusing would it be to watch the guests' faces as the song registers.
--DaycareKid who is not catching on to potty-training (but, hey, at least I know now that he is not constipated);
Lol~!
I, too, love a clean house and hate housecleaning. Just wondering -- did your parents use housework as punishment when you were a kid? Mine did, I have serious iss-yews regarding housework. I've tried Flylady, but keep falling off the wagon.
As for the hair, you could always try my cut. Wash and wear, it's so short it doesn't even get that slept-on smushed spot!!! Mine is board-straight, but curly would be just as cute.
Awww Mel...I can sympathize with you about the hair. Mine is the same way. It's annoying. That's why it's always trapped in a ponytail. Try Redkin Glass...or on the cheaper end, I like the Fructis Smoothing Milk.
I'm married to a liar too...;) I don't know how else I would function!
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