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.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, January 14, 2008
"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.
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.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Stories for Short Person
(**My original blog was on MySpace.)
Although not necessarily my intent for myspace, I have managed over the last year to accumulate quite a few stories of Short Person's antics. I always thought that I'd write them in a baby book, or scrapbook them, and have them separate from what was originally to be an outlet for my not so secret alternate identity.
In a strange, twisted sort of way, I am more myself on this anonymous space in an unreal world than I am anywhere else, but that's a story for another day.
As the accumulation of stories about Short Person grows, I am getting more and more concerned about losing them. I have horrible nightmares about computer crashes, myspace deletions, phishing... Losing those stories would devestate me.
Which brings me to this post. I know I've talked about backing them all up onto hard drive, or printing them out, and I will do that soon. But what I really want to do is start a memento for her to look at when she's 15, 25, 40, etc. A collection of stories of her growing up, along with pictures whenever available, that she can have as a treasure.
But how should I do it?
Scrapbooking seems like the most likely candidate, but I kinda hoped for something more unique since her baby book is a scrapbook. I've thought about doing board books and making "story books" for her, but that would be a lot of books! I thought about printing them all and then publishing them into a hardback book, but stories are continuous and it would bug me to no end to have to keep reprinting the book or something crazy.
So what do I do? What's the solution?
In my mind, I'm envisioning the large old antique type scrapbooks that you see in "Once Upon A Time" tales that have been made into movies, but since I haven't seen an album of that type in years (and the only one that I have seen was our old family album), that idea doesn't seem doable. So, now what?
If any of you that read this have an idea, I'd love to hear it. No matter how off the wall it may seem.
You know, maybe I could put her stories on dishes. You know, short ones on a mug, longer ones on a bowl or plates. Haha... that'd be unique.
Although not necessarily my intent for myspace, I have managed over the last year to accumulate quite a few stories of Short Person's antics. I always thought that I'd write them in a baby book, or scrapbook them, and have them separate from what was originally to be an outlet for my not so secret alternate identity.
In a strange, twisted sort of way, I am more myself on this anonymous space in an unreal world than I am anywhere else, but that's a story for another day.
As the accumulation of stories about Short Person grows, I am getting more and more concerned about losing them. I have horrible nightmares about computer crashes, myspace deletions, phishing... Losing those stories would devestate me.
Which brings me to this post. I know I've talked about backing them all up onto hard drive, or printing them out, and I will do that soon. But what I really want to do is start a memento for her to look at when she's 15, 25, 40, etc. A collection of stories of her growing up, along with pictures whenever available, that she can have as a treasure.
But how should I do it?
Scrapbooking seems like the most likely candidate, but I kinda hoped for something more unique since her baby book is a scrapbook. I've thought about doing board books and making "story books" for her, but that would be a lot of books! I thought about printing them all and then publishing them into a hardback book, but stories are continuous and it would bug me to no end to have to keep reprinting the book or something crazy.
So what do I do? What's the solution?
In my mind, I'm envisioning the large old antique type scrapbooks that you see in "Once Upon A Time" tales that have been made into movies, but since I haven't seen an album of that type in years (and the only one that I have seen was our old family album), that idea doesn't seem doable. So, now what?
If any of you that read this have an idea, I'd love to hear it. No matter how off the wall it may seem.
You know, maybe I could put her stories on dishes. You know, short ones on a mug, longer ones on a bowl or plates. Haha... that'd be unique.
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