Tuesdays Are For Doing What You Didn’t Do On Monday

Yesterday I was feeling a bit under the weather. Not the real sickly sort of under the weather, but the under the weather where you really just want to stay home all day long, sit on the sofa with a thick blanket, and watch Lifetime movies without moving.

I didn’t give in to the sofa and the TV craving, but I didn’t accomplish a whole lot, either. I think I was plum worn out from zipping hither and yon, like a squirrel on illegal speed tablets, throughout the entire week of Spring Break ’10. Clearly, my mission to provide some memories for my boy hit pay dirt, but at what price?

Mama’s new friend, Miss Pure Exhaustion, decided to hang out and linger for a while. That was the price. I am not nine years old, and it may be time to admit that I can no longer keep up with one who is.

Needless to say, I didn’t accomplish my list of Monday chores, unless you count slapping some Clorox wipes around the bathroom an accomplishment. I did do that, because I have some standards, and my standards are above living with a bathroom that looks like one at a truck stop. Where only men use it. And no one ever buys Clorox wipes. And every so often, someone comes in and dumps a bucket of loose hair on the floor and throws in a science project of mildew to grow in the shower. That was sort of what things looked like over at the Jedi Manor’s master bathroom yesterday, and I dealt with it.

I also ventured out, with a bit of a bad attitude about it, to Wal-Mart for the major haul of loot. It was the kind of haul where I really needed two carts, but I refused to admit it, and instead spent more minutes than I care to count strategically stacking items upward in my cart, like a good game of Jenga.

And then, the best part? After unloading all of my bajillion items onto the conveyor belt at the cash register, and then reloading all of the bajillion items back into my cart, after the cashier had stuffed them into sacks, and then unloading them into my Suburban in the super center’s parking lot, I had to drive home and unload them all once again. By myself. It took five trips, and I made sure that I was carrying Wal-Mart sacks on every finger I own. I almost lost my left index finger, due to a severe lack of blood flowing into it for the length of time that it took me to get that load into the kitchen.

And, as I pulled into the driveway, I admit that I fully entertained the idea of calling the cute neighbor boy with my cell phone, who is home-schooled and over at his house during the daylight hours, and saying, “Listen, Cute Neighbor Boy. I will pay you ten dollars in cold hard cash if you will unload my groceries. No questions asked.”

I decided, though, that interrupting his math lesson for a field trip, where he would walk five times between the tailgate of my Suburban and my kitchen counters, probably wasn’t appropriate. And besides, do you know how many drinks you can buy at Starbucks for the ten dollars I saved by not calling the cute neighbor boy over?

Not many. That’s how many.

After I’d sighed and shuffled around the kitchen in a performance of sheer agony which was totally worthy of being on an old episode of Dallas, I picked the boy up from school, and I drove him (and Ryan, too!) 30 miles to Gymnastics Land, USA. Thankfully, I didn’t have to spend the entire two hours’ of their class time sitting on the cold, hard, folding chairs, because my friend, Sarah (who actually lives in Gymnastics Land), invited me over to her house, to see their new fish aquarium. People, it is bigger than my refrigerator! Sea World has nothing on Sarah! They have had custom cabinets built to incorporate their new fish tank into an entire wall of their family room, and it was amazing. And then I ended up chatting with Sarah for so long, I was plum late picking the boy and Ryan up from gymnastics class, but only by about six minutes. Hubs can’t believe that I got carried away chatting. For every 3,000 words that I speak during the day, Hubs speaks 120. And that may just be 120 syllables, rather than full-on wordage, and some of his 120 syllables are more grunts and caveman sighs, instead of actual English sounds.

See? Although short, my list was filled with some relatively grand achievements yesterday, even though I would have been perfectly satisfied to sit on the sofa and bawl my eyes out over a Hallmark movie.

Today, though, I had to pay the piper, as the old saying goes. I woke up bright and early this morning to a house that resembled the outskirts of a landfill, and I suddenly wished that I’d actually accomplished more than balancing boxes of cereal and Pop Tarts and bags of apples on top of a mountain of groceries in a shopping cart yesterday.

As Hubs was standing atop a mountainous pile of dirty laundry while he was pulling clean socks out of his drawer in the closet this morning, he looked at me and said, “Are we having some laundry issues at our house?”

I replied, “Sort of. I guess.”

Hubs said, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen our closet floor this bad with dirty laundry before.”

And I said, “But you’re still not concerned enough to do anything about it yourself? Like start a load of whites in the washing machine?”

And Hubs replied, “I kind of just want to go to work and have this problem take care of itself, so that when I come home, I won’t have to walk across a bunch of dirty jeans this evening.”

Yeah, Hubs. That’s what I wanted, too. I wanted to leave the house for an extended period of time, too, and come home and see that the laundry had taken care of itself, but it didn’t quite happen that way, did it? It’s because we can’t afford Starbucks, if we hire a maid to do the laundry for me.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.

And I’m happy to report that we can actually walk in our walk-in closet once again tonight, because our washing machine basically ran all day long. And I scrubbed our house from top to bottom today. I worked like Cinderella did.

Also, the weather was very drizzly and rainy today, and those days are my favorite. I know. Call me weird, but I adore a rainy day more than any other. There’s something about being stuck inside and knowing that it’s okay to just sit down with a book and a mug of chai tea and read beside a lamp that makes a day feel fabulous. I think I could easily live where Edward Cullen does, but I’d just want him and his little vampire self to keep his distance from me, because he seems a little moody and depressed, if you ask me.

Seeing the rain this morning, Hubs started singing, “I Love a Rainy Night” while he was getting ready for work today. Every day is better when you start it with Eddie Rabbit, but it’s even better when Eddie does the singing, because Hubs is a bit off-key.

I think it’s because Hubs blew his eardrums out at too many Metallica concerts when he was a teenager, and he can’t hear how off-key he really is.

No matter.

I love him. Even if he does sing off-key. Even if he does get to go to work and have the laundry issues take care of themselves.

It’s because he grilled steaks for dinner tonight. And they were perfection! And then he pretty much cleaned up most of the kitchen by himself. And that was also perfection.

Hubs and I are a perfect team. He’s just a little more competitive than I am, and thinks it’s okay to lose a tooth in a good game.

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