October 1, 2007 by Marj Hatzell
Mount Washmore beckoned. It took me an entire week to catch up on housework from Bugaboo’s 2007 Week-long Pneumonia Tour and there were LITERALLY eight loads there. Eight loads? How does a family of four have eight loads of laundry? Let’s see.
- Bugaboo’s sheets. All three sets and two mattress pads. He pees nearly nightly. Yes, he’s wearing a diaper.
- Towels. I replace towels every two-to-three days. Why? Staph. And snot. One of the two.
- Kitchen towels and rags. These are replaced daily, sometimes twice a day. This house gets dirty. I know, I know. EVERY house gets dirty. But does EVERY house constantly mop juice-spit stains up from the floor? And he’s GONE for seven hours a day…
- Darling’s clothes. I sware (swear, even) that he changes clothes more frequently then all three of us put together. He changes from his work clothes the second he arrives home, then gets dirty in the new set of clothes. For those of you not good at math, that’s two sets of clothing (including socks and underwear, he often showers as soon as he gets home, too) per day. Which is fourteen sets of clothing a week, give or take the three times a day on the weekends he changes due to his many house projects and the fact that he is an excessive sweat-er.
- Socks. This is one of those things I am writing in that idiot’s guide to parenting that I’m telling you will sell a million copies if I ever learn to actually write professionally and pitch my idea (the truth is, I cannot handle rejection and I am a huge procrastinator. This will never occur.). Socks disappear. They wear out quickly due to little boys who want to be barefoot but can’t stand the feeling of their feet on grass or woodchips. I cannot stitch the holes, they could FEEL IT with their toes, you know. We can’t let that happen.
- The regular clothes. Regular, everyday outfits from each person. Stained shirts that need soaking or spraying, pants with grass stains, blankets with juice stains and dog hair, smelly soccer gear.
It may not seem like much, but if you could see the pile in my bedroom last night…it was insane. The only way to force myself to fold it, sort it and put it all away was to watch something on tv. For some reason I do my best housework to music, tv or talking on the phone. Strange, huh? I turned the television on to find EMHE (season premiere! ALOHA!) and settled down to watch one of my guilty pleasures. Harmless, right? Until eight o’clock when I flipped channels during a commercial and found High School Musical 2.
Oh. My. Gosh.
You see, HSM is my super-secret guilty kid pleasure. I pretend to dislike it. I roll my eyes when the kids I babysit talk about it. I avoid it like the plague at the store (the merchandising for kid shows is disgusting). The truth is, I love musicals. And HSM is no exception. I cannot get enough. I don’t care about the leetle nude-photo-E-mail thingy, have you ever seen anything so hokey, fun, cute and wholesome in your life? I mean, really! I watched it, tapped my foot, danced along, sang along, you name it. I’m a big dork that way. Te-year-old girls across the planet have nothing on my excitment for HSM.
Oops. Guess it’s a secret no longer. I kinda told you just now, didn’t I? (Well, I didn’t tell you about my fascination with Princess Diaries and Ella Enchanted, so that’s okay. )