Natural Disasters

Not only do my children have issues with turning off lights, they also have an aversion to ever properly screwing the lid back on to any jar, jug, bottle, or whatever. This can be a problem when one goes to shake the salad dressing before pouring it (I mean, if it bothers you to walk around smelling like Creamy Italian the rest of the evening)...or when the vibration of the washer makes the laundry detergent container fall off and land on the floor. A problem, say, the way the Exxon-Valdez spill was a problem.

I mean, how does one clean up an entire jug of liquid laundry soap? It would be nice if I could have taken a hose and simply sprayed down the entire floor, as it does have a drain in it...but that would have been in some alternate universe, a universe where we have a garage that would hold all the crap we have piled in our utility room. I could show you a picture, but it is too embarrassing. Suffice it to say that there is a narrow path to my washer/dryer and that path was covered in soap.




It was like this, only messier and harder to clean up...






So, instead of spending a peaceful evening knitting (Larry had taken all the kids out to see David "cross over" from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts), I spent my time learning that paper towels don't really do the trick in a situation like this. Old hand towels and cloth diapers worked better; though I needed to use so many, I had a full load of laundry to do when I was finished. Which was great, because, really, I don't do enough laundry. Why stop at 3 loads a day when you can do more? At least I didn't need to add detergent to that particular load (I did put in baking soda, however - I am Laundress, hear me roar...)

So, as you can see, the excitement never stops around here. Aren't you glad you stopped by?

Yesterday the kids and I walked to our local Ben and Jerry's and got the free ice cream cones the store was handing out (no, I don't know why they were doing that). And, yes, I was mean, making the kids walk all that way; but I figured it would heighten their appreciation for the unexpected treat. Plus, I really needed the exercise. I'm sure Susie was a tad puzzled that we were having ice cream, as she hadn't even pooped in the potty that day; but she's a girl who can roll with the punches, so she didn't let her confusion get in her way.

She peed all over the couch yesterday, by the way. Have I mentioned that? And again, on the hallway floor. It's worse than having a puppy. If she weren't so round-cheeked and squeezable, I would sell her to the gypsies. Maybe they would take Anna instead...she doesn't want to live with us, anyway.

Help!

Real post later, all about my exciting weekend. But first, a plea for help -

How does one get rid of the smell in a load of laundry that has been sitting in one's washer for 72 hours? I've washed it twice this morning, but there is still a smell (though not as bad). Will putting it in the dryer kill it? Or seal it in?

I know someone out there is a laundry maven who will have the magic answer...

Things I Never Learned In Math Class

6 kids equal 1800 dollars in tax rebate. In the words of Marketplace's Nancy Marshall-Genzer, "They really are cheaper by the dozen." I do wish I had thought of that joke first.

1 fun-size Twix equals 2 Mint Musketeers Miniatures (for all you Weight Watchers out there). But, if you leave the open bag of Musketeers next to your keyboard, you end up eating at least 8 points worth before your husband takes it away. After that, you have to settle for licking the empty wrappers (0 points!).

4 pairs of jeans in the laundry hamper equals no pants to wear except the too tight ones that I hang onto for no good reason. (And, yes, I am sitting here at the computer with them unbuttoned just so I can breathe - how did you know?)

One kid with a weird 24-hour fever-and-headache virus equals one week of sickness (at least) in a household of 8 people. Should be a great week coming up, folks! Stay tuned for more news from Quarantine Central....

Finally, one question equals 21 varied responses on what to do for your husband for Valentine's Day. I'd say that Derfwad Manor is sacrificing the most for her sweetheart (turning off your computer for the entire day, mrs. g? Are you trying to make me look bad?); and I would like to advise Neil that if his wife wants Valentine's Day to be all about her, I say go with it. I mean, if you like her and all...

Which reminds me - never marry a man whose birthday is February 14th. A friend of mine did this, and every Valentine's Day she has to listen to him complain about having to buy her a present on his birthday.

On The Road Again

Well, we made it to my parents' house. It was a fairly uneventful car trip, disturbed only by Rachel's whining that she was hungry (because bagels, Twizzlers, and raisins did not fill the bill - I have no idea what she was expecting in the car - filet mignon?) and by my whining about how hard it was to pick up loose stitches in a moving vehicle. I'm also having a motivation problem with this knitting project, because I keep looking at the sock and thinking, "This should be a sweater." Which thought makes absolutely no sense, as I do not know how to knit a sweater. But that doesn't stop me from slipping the unfinished sock on my arm anyway and admiring how it looks as a sleeve.

It's a miracle we got the kids to sleep this evening. They were so wound up on candy and tickling and Bugs Bunny movies that I thought we'd need to use a tranquilizer dart gun to settle them down for the night. Really, all that the children do here is eat fun food, play with Legos (as if we don't have those at home), and fight over who gets to use the camera on Uncle Mike's cellphone. And they think it's just great. Larry hides downstairs, pretending to be updating the security software on my brother's computer. And I wander around, marvelling at how everything still smells the same as when I grew up in this house. (What's up with that, huh?) It's not exactly a family trip to DisneyWorld, but it's a heck of a lot cheaper.

Now I am doing laundry. Because Susie has somehow managed to pee on all of the clothing I had packed for her. But I'm used to doing laundry on vacation. It's almost a family tradition.

Google Giggle

Oh, dear. You know, on the Firefox browser, how there is that little rectangular box in the upper right-hand corner, where you type search words for Google? And you know how, unless you remember to go back and delete, those search words stay up there until you do another search? Well, imagine my unsuspecting husband's consternation when he sits down at his computer this evening and sees "nude knitters" in his search box. That took some explaining, I must say. Because he doesn't read my blog.

We've been busy today getting ready for a weekend car trip to my parents' house. The kids are very excited about it, because they like all the junk we feed them to get them to be quiet in the car. And they like all the junk Grandma and Grandpa feed them when we visit. They are very food-oriented, my children. I'm excited about the trip because I get to spend over 4 hours knitting with no one bothering me (except to ask for more Twizzlers). Anna is excited about the trip because she is not going; she's staying with a friend instead. I don't think Larry is excited about the trip, but he married me and he's stuck.

So I need to go finish the zillion loads of laundry that always need to be done before we go away for a mere 2 days. And I need to clean up the house, so that if we all get killed on the highway, perfect strangers won't come in and say, "Oh, my Lord, they lived like pigs." It's a little phobia of mine.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

I had to rummage through the clean laundry basket in the dark this morning (so as not to wake the baby) ; so, coming out of the shower, I discovered that the only item I had available to cover myself belonged to my husband, not me . Towel wrapped around my dripping hair, I pulled on the offending apparel and scrounged frantically around my room for my own clothing, trying to hurry before my 4-year-old could walk in and ask the inevitable question: "Mommy, why are you wearing Daddy's underpants?"