April 26, 2008 by Marj Hatzell
Yesterday was a gorgeous day in the metropolitan Philadelphia area. The trees looked greener than ever, the birds chirped louder and the smells…well, you get the picture. Ahhh…nothing like lilac wafting through my windows. Lily of the Valley! MMMM!!! ACHOO! ACHOO! HONNNNNK!
To add to this springtime bliss, Forrest Gump Darling made sure he rushed home to give him plenty of time to mow. Y’know, because the whole neighborhood mows their lawns on Friday afternoons when it will rain over the weekend. Because I wasn’t sneezing enough. I mean, before Darling arrived, I had been hacking and rubbing my eyes all day. And after he arrived I was hacking and rubbing my eyes all night. I really wish I could take allergy medication sometimes. Local honey and alfalfa just ain’t cutting it.
Bugaboo was home all day yesterday since he had therapy and Fridays are half days according to his sh*tty Early Intervention calendar. We muddled through the afternoon with three hours with the TSS (haircut! WOO! No crying!) and she left before the older kids were due from the bus. That gave me an hour to doze on the couch with Bugaboo. I put on his favorite video, actually believing that he’d camp out with me.
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!! That’s funny! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Stop, yer killing me! HAHAHAHAHA!
So I dozed. And he snuck around. And in less than three minutes a different smell wafted into the room. Not lilac. Not Lily of the Valley. Not cut grass. No, this was Old Spice-meets-toothpaste-meets-musk. Time to check it out. I almost wish I hadn’t. He managed to dump two bottles of moutwash all over my room (regular and whitening) and leave a bottle of Darling’s body wash open on the bed. Yes, open. As in, green, slimy liquid all over the bed. As in, leaking through the blankets and sheets. The reason we have a mattress protector on our bed? This. Oh, and let’s not forget he found my natural deodorant spray and dumped that out and licked it. Ew.
I tells ya, I can’t get a break sometimes. Never mind the fact that he refused to go to bed until eleven the night before and was up at four (that’s less than five hours of sleep for those of you not good at math). Never mind the fact that for three hours every morning I play chauffeur and have to hang out and wait in a waiting room doing crossword puzzles and sudoku and cryptograms (ok, that part is awesome). Never mind the fact that this week has been hectic and i feel like i haven’t gotten a thing done at home. Because I haven’t. When darling made it home at five thirty to cut grass and take Bugaboo with him (Bugaboo sits on his lap) I was relieved. What to do? I have two hours of peace! They’ll cut the grass, get the clippings off the sidewalk, weed whack, ah! Silence (not really) and peace! JUST ME! What to do?
- Vacuumed two out of three floors
- cleaned two out of three bathrooms
- made all three beds (four, if you count the bunk. I don’t)
- wiped finger prints off of walls
- folded two baskets of laundry
- put in two more baskets of laundry
- emptied the sink
- wiped the counters
- Did a five minute room rescue in every room of the house
- put the recycling outside (it was piled on the counter and floor by the trash)
- Got myself a Magner’s Cider (and Darling a Beer)
It felt great to get that all done. So good, in fact, that I was super motivated about dinner and went ahead and picked up the phone to order it. I know, I know, I’m pretty awesome that way. I care about my family’s nutrition. That’s why we got turkey hoagies instead of cheesesteaks, because we wanted to eat light and all. Duh! I don’t cook on Fridays! Sheesh!
But wait! There’s more!
Darling took Bugaboo to therapy this morning. So I get peace and quiet (not really) while I do some stuff around the house and take Bug Boy to his first-ever-teeball day. That oughta be fun. I mean, if he acts like a tiger and chases kids during the non-stop action of soccer? Can’t wait to see how many blades of grass and airplanes he counts during teeball. He’s the kid that’ll get whacked in the head with a ball ’cause he’s too busy watching gnats fly in the outfield, trust me.