Midsummer Night

I am eating my Peanut Butter Captain Crunch as various minutiae orbit my mind. The peeling laminate on the drawer, the baby in the photo, the loud washing machine containing the VBS shirts that need to be clean by tomorrow. I should brush my teeth and go to bed, but some nights, like this one, delay me. What is the thing I should be doing instead of sleeping?

I am too tired to think of it. Pull away, brush the teeth. The bed will stop the searching, unless my pillow puts the answer in my head.

Six Loads

Six loads on the sanitary cycle. That is what it takes to clean up a food poisoning incident for four people. That and a bottle of carpet cleaner, several antibacterial wipes, and a half-bottle of carpet cleaner in the Hoover carpet shampooer. Oh, and several squirts of Febreeze. Chemicals can be a good thing.

I'm so glad I didn't eat the ham. Six out of our seven did. One barely ate a molecule of it. One got lucky- I microwaved his a long time. That's why only four got sick, but last night at 1:00 AM, I kept waiting for those two to join the vomit party. First my husband started the good times. Then my six-year-old. I went to check on my baby only to see him snoozing next to a pile of vomit. Later, I heard through the baby monitor my four-year-old heaving.

My husband doesn't even want to see ham again. Ditto the other unfortunates. I didn't eat the ham, but even I don't want to see it again. I saw enough second-hand ham last night, thanks.

The kids had the day off today, and we were supposed to have friends over for a playdate day and make cookies and other fun stuff. Instead, most of us stayed in Superman p.j.s and the like and cleaned up the results of a very disappointing meal.

The ham had been fully cooked, but it must have sat out too long or something. Lesson learned. I will zap leftover meat for a long, long time. That is if we ever eat it again.

The Girl I Used to Be

I don't want to BE the girl I used to be; I want to HIRE that girl to load my dishwasher.

I used to be organized, with my towels straight and cans lined up a la Sleeping with the Enemy. I used to be on time, showered, and dressed. I used to wear make-up. I used to clean. Now I am not that girl anymore. Now I am a woman with a family, not big by Dugger standards, but sizable. The woman I am now doesn't have time to do the aforementioned things because I am too busy looking for lost Bionicles, fastening Spiderman masks, and making cinnamon play dough. These are things that are more important to me now than cleaning and preening. The woman I am now would rather look for Bionicles than dust bunnies. However, when the kids start naming the dust bunnies, I know I need the girl I used to be.

Sure, I enlist the children to help with the dust bunnies and Mount Laundry. They all have chores, and this is part of parenting. It is good for the kids, but for me it is like an itch in the center of my back that I can't quite reach. It only gets a little scratched. Well, the kids only get the house a little clean.

That's why I want to clone myself, but not my current self. I want the self who doesn't feel guilty about scrubbing, folding, and filing. She doesn't feel guilty because she doesn't have any kids to feed/bathe/read to/teach. She is a clean freak, an organizer from the Martha Stewart school, and she still has time to read and look pretty. She can do all my household errands and chores while I have time to be the woman I am now, a mom.