The Excitement Never Ends Around Here

On Mondays, I don’t work anywhere.

Except at home.

And by working at home, I mean that I get to vacuum and mop floors on Mondays. And do laundry. And scrub potties. And disinfect sinks. And dust. And scour the entire house.

I’ve always been an all-or-nothing sort of housekeeper. Either I clean it all, right now, today, or I don’t clean it at all. That concept of just cleaning one room a night? Yeah. Totally lost on me.

Since I played all day Monday with my girlfriends, and sat around slurping hot beverages laced with caffeine and discussed important issues like the state of the union and unimportant issues like the proper way to REALLY tie a scarf (but wait — scarf tying is actually classified as an important issue, I think), while we giggled like a pack of hens, I didn’t get a lick of housework done that day.

Not. One. Lick.

As in my house was still trying to recover from the weekend on Monday evening.

And we had no clean jeans.

And our bathroom sink was laced with enough toothpaste splatters to make it resemble a crime scene.

Today, I had to pay the shoemaker. Or the piper. Or whichever fairy tale character needed the golden doubloons in exchange for the day that I sort of took off. Naturally, paying the shoemaker meant that I spent THIS MORNING doing things that I normally do on Mondays.

Oh, weekly schedule! Why do I even attempt to keep up with you?!

This morning I scrubbed the house down like Cinderella after she stole the Ritalin from the villagers’ children.

And then I taught PE this afternoon.

And we had an incident in kindergarten PE, which shouldn’t surprise you.

But it surprised me!

Primarily because it involved poo.

Poo and a small fry who did not make it into the bathroom on time, and who turned the biggest, saddest, bluest eyes upon me and whispered in a very tiny voice, “Please! Please will you help me go to the bathroom?”

What’s a kindergarten PE teacher to do?

I called the school secretary, that’s what I did. I issued an emergency Code Poo and said, “But the REST of the kindergartners are in the gym, and leaving them unattended is a hazard to all of our healths, because they will probably find a way to light the gymnasium on fire if I am missing as their PE chaperon.”

Our secretary, bless her heart, is made of stronger stuff than I am, and she handled the poo while I handled kindergarten dodge ball. I told that wonderful secretary of ours that I would just sign my October paycheck over to her for her unselfish heroics this afternoon.

And then the 3rd and 4th graders piled into my gym, and we played a game where you have to jump to avoid being smacked in the sneakers by a pitched bean bag, and I learned that there are approximately 3,497 different ways to cheat at this game.

And do you know what? The 3rd and 4th graders know all 3,497 ways. And they employed them all today, until we had tears from the non-cheaters.

All three non-cheaters.

Have you ever fantasized about a cheating 4th grader taking a thrown bean bag to the face?

Yeah. Me neither.

After PE, I scooped the boy up from school, and we held our breath in the stinky pet store and secured a live dinner for Yoda Joe and Gru, so that Yoda Joe will stop the self-inflicted torture of banging his head against his tank at night.

I’m going to line up some counseling for that frog.

After rushing through homework, the boy and his friend, Carter, dashed off to youth group, and Hubs and I were left plum alone, so we skipped out the door to dinner. We went to an exotic little hot spot that boasts a flag in their parking lot that is roughly four times bigger than a king-sized bedspread. I had pancakes and Hubs had an omelet, and then we came home.

We live on the edge of excitement like that.

After dinner, we came home, and Hubs dumped the boy’s entire 45-gallon tub of Legos onto the bedroom floor.

I don’t know how many of y’all have actually seen a 45-gallon pile of Legos, but it is impressive enough to be a tourist attraction that Clark Griswold might load the family up in the giant station wagon to go see. I actually took a snapshot of it, so that I could post it on the blog tonight and show you what I deal with in my life, but Blogger is having some issues tonight. They have posted a big yellow banner which basically says, “We are doing maintenance on our website tonight, for two hours, and we are disabling the ability to upload pictures. If you try to upload a picture during this time, your computer will explode into microscopic fragments.” They weren’t lying either. I tried to sneak a photo by them, and they shut me down.

Hence, there’s no snapshot, and I do apologize for that, because I’m sure that you were all sitting on the edge of your seats, wishing and hoping that you could get a secure mental picture of what a 45-gallon pile of Legos actually looks like when it is out of the 45-gallon Rubbermaid tub.

Hubs is not planning on building the Golden Gate Bridge with the Legos tonight. He is in search of a single, solitary piece that the boy has lost, and which we must recover, because HELLO! IT IS A PIECE THAT DOES NOT BELONG TO US!

Clearly, we like to lose things when we borrow them, which should make y’all think twice about loaning the Jedi Family anything.

We have our suspicions that the borrowed Lego brick fell into the 45-gallon tub. Hubs had been digging in the giant heap for about seven minutes when he shouted out loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “HEY!! I FOUND LEGO PRINCESS LEIA’S GOLDEN BIKINI!!!”

Hubs is up for adoption.

I mean it.

When the giant search for a single Lego brick has concluded tonight, Hubs and I are going to watch Tuesday’s episode of Glee, because the DVR is a magical thing, and then I’m probably going to call it a night.

Pure Excitement.

We get it on over here at the Jedi Manor.

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