Was it Napoleon who said: ‘I came, I saw, I conquered?’
Today I can confidently say: ‘I cleaned, I cooked, I laundered’. And I’m bone tired to prove it. I just don’t have the stamina I used to have for cleaning marathons. Maybe because, in my pre-child years, when I cleaned something it actually stayed clean. For at least 24 hours. Now cleaning feels like amnesia: ‘I thought I just vacuumed the carpet five minutes ago….but there are cookie crumbs…everywhere.’ ‘I’m pretty sure I just swept the kitchen floor but there’s moonsand all over the place…strange.’ It’s like being in the movie ‘Groundhog’s Day.’
Jason woke up feeling ill this morning. Blame it on the runny noses and coughs that have kept us company for well over a month now. Or the fact that he nearly killed himself at the bowling alley last night. G had commenced his turn by rolling the ball down the lane at a pace of about 1 mile per hour. Jason was convinced it would get stuck, so he hustled after the ball. Down the lane. While holding our youngest in his arms.
The lanes had apparently been polished with a mixture of Crisco and ice, and he fell to the floor like something out of a comic book. Miraculously holding onto the Hen in the process. It’s a wonder he’s walking today.
So it was determined this morning that we would skip church. Which was met with some suspicion on the part of our oldest. Why were we staying home today? Because Daddy is sick. A litany of inquiries followed, related to the particular nature of Dad’s symptoms and injuries. Sheesh, I thought kids liked skipping church.
As I pondered the day ahead, I vowed that today would be the day…that I conquered the laundry pile. If nothing else happened today, I would wash, dry and fold every single piece of dirty laundry in the house. It seemed more virtuous than playing WordTwist all day.
Goodness knows, the talking males in my house had dropped their fair share of hints regarding the state of the laundry. ‘I don’t have any pants to wear,’ G announced. ‘Did you wash any pants for me?’ No. And he did still have two pairs to wear, he just didn’t want to wear them. Jason muttered something about not having any underwear, or pants, or socks. Except he did. But his shelves are so messy that underwear end up with t-shirts, and long-sleeved t-shirts share space with short-sleeved t-shirts. And pants are hidden under sweaters. Really, he needs one of those airport sniffer dogs to unearth his stuff.
Thus, today was the day to heed the pleas of my under-dressed men. To rescue them from the pajamas and loungewear they seem to live in these days.
Naturally, the project snowballed. Since I was going to do all the laundry, I might as well reorganize the shelves in the closet we all share. Which is really the ultimate time waster, since the Hen walks in there each day (there’s no door) and pulls several items off the shelves and dumps them on the floor. And when G walks in to select his outfit, he grabs a shirt, but inevitably the two or three shirts underneath it go along for the ride. And are left on the floor. And when Jason goes in to select his clothes, he tends to pull the 7th t-shirt out of a pile of 10 – using the ‘magic tablecloth’ approach. Except he doesn’t have magic tablecloth skills. The pile just implodes and everything gets shoved back onto the shelf.
Since I was already upstairs working on the closet, I decided to continue the 2009 de-cluttering project and clear off the dressers and night stands in our room. Which has never been done – not in the nearly six months we’ve lived here. The effect is magical, I must say. Save the sweaters still hanging on the doors – drying. And the pile of ‘Goodwill’ clothes crouching in the corner.
While the Hen napped, I baked an apple cake and some chocolate chip cookies – not for us – as Jason woefully pointed out. No, for later this week – a preschool party, and a play date, and a church gathering. The items went into my freezer, without touching my lips. (Well, I did pilfer a couple of cookies…) The very fact that I spent time on Sunday baking items for Wednesday and Thursday made me feel like the ultimate (if temporary) domestic goddess.
I followed up the baking by cooking a dinner of trout, green beans and small potatoes for my family. Which makes me sound like Martha Stewart; except the fish may have been in the refrigerator a little past its prime. I’m hoping Jason’s assessment that it ‘tastes fine’ was correct.
[Here’s hoping I don’t submit a post tomorrow detailing the world’s worst incident of food poisoning, ever.]
Did I mention that I also took a walk out-of-doors for twenty minutes?
And now, for a tribute to my sponsors. This day of incredible, one-time-only domestic goddess-ness could not have been made possible without jenerous assistance from the following….
My darling husband Jason, who did dishes for much of the day and made me a molten chocolate cake at the end of it. My oldest son, Mr G, who dutifully sat through two movies while I cleaned. And my youngest son, the Hen, who entertained himself quietly for ten minutes by playing in the china cabinet (unbeknownst to us); banging my Noritake pepper shaker until it split in two.