I'm Not Wearing Any Clothes

In our household, everyone has a job. Or many jobs. For instance, it is my job to clean the kitchen and load the dishwasher, but it is LJS's job to unload the dishwasher. It is my job to fold and put away the clothes and LJS's job to wash and rotate the clothes through the machinery. Short Person... pretty much does whatever she wants, but helps with chores whenever possible.

If one person gets behind, the whole house gets behind and mass chaos ensues.

This weekend, we were on a roll-- except maybe for the cleaning part-- with LJS and Short Person in the house, it becomes frustrating and pointless. If you are going to visit, visit during the week. It is the only time I can offer you a clean environment.

Anyway, as I said, we were on a roll. Laundry was like clockwork and for this reason we got about six loads run through, folded, and put away. There was one load left in the dryer though.

Now, it never occurred to me to check and make sure all my clothes were put away because... the laundry was done.

EXCEPT IT WASN'T!!

Apparently, there was also a load in the washer. And miraculously that load somehow contained ALL my work clothes. Except for a pair of pants I wore yesterday.

At 8:00am, as I attempted to get dressed and discovered I had nothing to wear, I went in search of my clothes and found them, in the washer... not dried. With half an hour to get coffee and get to work, I did the only thing left to do.

Which is why I am not wearing any clothes today.

No, what I am wearing can, at this point, only be described as the least smelly of the dirty rags I had lying in a pile.

I CAN NOT WAIT for lunch. I have never, ever looked forward to my lunch break this much... well, maybe a few other times.

This can only be termed retribution for all those times that the clothes weren't folded, which is the only thing restraining my need to call my husband.

Okay, actually, I did call him. But, really, this is funny. I mean, how can I be mad? I'm not. It's gross, I admit, but if this is his retribution, it's funnier than heck and totally inventive.

Fuel Efficiency at Its Best

My car is in serious need of gas- or, at least if I judge by the orange little indicator light that glows on the dashboard like a jack-o-lantern on Halloween, it is. Of course, I might also gather that information from the little needle that is holding steady right below the "E" and just about the little pole thing that lets you know you are basically screwed.

It isn't that I can't afford to get gas, or that there aren't a plethora of service stations abounding the area, it's that... I just don't want to. I don't know why. I just don't want to.

Unfortunately, sooner or later, my car will run out of gas. Not only that, but if I let it go much more, I will have to sit through an hour lecture about fuel injectors and carburetors and... car things I just don't want to know about. And yet, I wait.

What this lack of willingness to pull my lazy ass over to the pumps means though is that I must force myself to come up with alternative ways to stretch the existing gasoline fumes as far as they will go. A feat that I am proud to say, I seem to be accomplishing.

I will zoom up the street for about two second at 40mph and then coast for as long as I can. Usually, this is about five blocks and must then give it more gas or come to a halt. Although some might consider this speeding, I figure that since I'm usually doing 10mph by the time I hit the gas again, it all evens out to right around the speed limit.

Going downhill is a breeze, and I'm quite ecstatic over the fact that I must once in awhile hit the brake for fear of going too fast. But uphill? Uphill is my enemy.

But eventually, I will need gas. And then, then I will go back to driving with confidence down highways.

Just... not now. Now, I execute my small planet saving techniques. I will see how far I go.

"Are you a bad mom?"

As parents one of the most interesting things you are tasked with is answering multitudes of questions that you would have never before thought to ask yourself and then are completely unsure of the answer. You also get asked "Why?" a lot.

One of my favorite Short Person questions is, "What am I made out of?" Thank goodness for rudimentary lessons in biology. We have a lot of fun finding bones in her hands she can feel, tendons in her arms, and muscles in her thighs.

But as many times as I've been asked extremely interesting questions, I was not prepared for the serious little face that appeared before me Saturday night and asked in a quiet tone, "Are you a bad mom?"

About a million things went through my head, including every parenting mistake I've made in her short four years, while I thought about the best way to respond to such a question.

A long explanation about how mommy really tries was probably not the best route. Neither was a dissertation on "live and learn" and "mommy's make mistakes".

In the end I decided to let her steer the conversation and responded, "Well... Do you love me?"

"Yes", she answered in her little voice.

"Okay. Do you think I take good care of you?"

"Yes."

"Do we have fun together?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, then no... I don't think I'm a bad mom."

"Okay!" Then she smiled that sweet little smile, gave me a hug, and ran out of the room... while I sat there wondering what in the world gave her the impression that she needed to ask such a question.