So today was dedicated to laundry-doing and grocery-fetching and picking up our house, which the housekeeper that we cannot afford (but who keeps me SANE, as she takes our very last dollar from us) came and scrubbed down on Monday. I KNEW on Monday that by Tuesday our house would be out of control again, which just means that I’m paying top-dollar to have a clean house for three hours, while everyone is at work and school.
I feel like it’s worth it, because without her, I never have a clean house any more. If three hours is what I get, then three hours it is.
But seriously, she set our bathrooms back to a state where we can now have company over. For the past few weeks, I’ve lived in fear that a friend would ring the doorbell and say, “Hi. We were near your house, and… well... this is embarrassing… but can I use your bathroom?” And then I’d have to tell her NOT A FAT CHANCE, because she might take to social media with her reports of the mildew streaks we were harboring, and how she was hard-pressed to see herself in the bathroom mirror, through all the toothpaste splatters and dirty hand prints.
Now that my toilets sparkle again… no one will need to use them.
In other news, this is Homecoming Week at both the high school and the junior high in Small Town, so the kids are dressing up right and left. Many of my friends have been posting pictures on Facebook of their junior high kids dressed up in neon leg warmers and neon workout wear, because of ’80s DAY. Apparently, the only thing any of us can remember from the ’80s is that we worked out ALL OF THE TIME. One friend posted that she had introduced her daughter to the fine art of ratting and backcombing, and that she could now check that off of her to-do list, as her daughter’s ponytail achieved the necessary volume to compete with Heather Locklear and Bret Michaels. Another friend posted a picture of her daughter, in an old AC/DC concert T-shirt, with her hair SOMEWHAT volumized. She said that it was the best she could do, because her kid kept complaining, “It’s too big! My hair is too big!! I hate it already!!” This is the problem with the girls of today: They simply don’t understand the hardships we faced every single morning, as we got up three hours before school started, so we’d have JUST ENOUGH TIME to wash our hair and pump that Rave home permanent up to gravity defying levels, that were all shellacked into place with half a can of aerosol Aqua Net.
The discussion on this friend’s post then went on to say that it was really too bad her daughter didn’t have any bangs, because those could’ve been hopped up like a satellite dish on speed pills, which would have REALLY thrown that kid into a day of Great Big Hair Panic.
And also? Well, I don’t really understand how the ’80s are considered far enough behind us now to become a decade that the kids represent during Spirit Weeks. They layer their pastel Izod polos, stolen from the backs of their parents’ closets, and flip the collars, and then add neon leg warmers and neon running shorts and throw their hair into side ponytails, while my friends and I sit back and say, “That’s not really how Blondie or Debbie Gibson or… even I… looked.” And then we feel a little offended because THE ’80s WERE NOT THAT LONG AGO, PEOPLE! IT WAS JUST YESTERDAY, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! AND IT WAS FULL OF GREAT FASHION AND GORGEOUS HAIR!!
I imagine it’s exactly how our parents felt, when we dressed up in love beads and fringe and bell bottoms, raided from closets, during our own Spirit Week, circa 1988.
Yesterday was TWIN DAY at the high school. Everyone was supposed to grab a friend and dress in matching outfits, and WOW! THAT’S EASY! At our house, the boy and the cute neighbor boy took Twin Day to the next level… or even… sixteen thousand, four hundred and forty-seven levels ABOVE the next level, because they BOTH looked EXACTLY LIKE THIS:
Sadly, I do not have a snapshot of the two of them together, but let your horrors rest on knowing that there were TWO OF THESE IDENTICAL CREATURES walking around the hallowed halls of Small Town High yesterday.
And y’all thought the Creepy Clown invasion was a bad thing. I think the boy and the cute neighbor boy could’ve scared the clowns into seclusion with their get-up yesterday morning.
And, if you’re wondering… I, too, have no words on why our beloved neighbors own not just one, BUT TWO full-length, mink coats to loan out to kids who need them for Twin Day. The boy said that a girl stopped him before one of his classes yesterday to say, “I can’t believe you killed a bunch of animals just so you could wear a coat made form their skins.” He said he told her, “Oh, I didn’t kill them myself, because this coat is vintage, but I’m happy to wear the fruits of their labor… and I’m even going to have a hamburger with BACON for lunch.”
I don’t know whose kid he is.
Today’s dress-up theme was SPORTS DAY, so the boy went as… WHAT ELSE? A golfer!
He raided a few things from the cute neighbor boy’s basement again, because their stockpile of dress-up clothes is the stuff movies are made with. Our dress-up clothes are limited to Spider-Man costumes and Star Wars outfits, in a size 6.
When the boy left for school this morning, I told him to have a great day, and he said, “Oh, I intend to. I might skip my morning classes, and put this outfit to good use with eighteen holes of golf. But don’t worry, Mom! I’ll be back in time for my afternoon classes.”
In other news, Thing 2 muddied up a pair of Under Armour sneakers a while back, which his mother keeps forgetting to wash. And it’s not so much that she keeps FORGETTING to wash them, as it is that she just isn’t a successful driver on the Laundry-Doing Train. This morning, he told me, “I really need my black Under Armour shoes, Mom!” And I told him to write me a note, to remind me to wash them today.
(Yes. I’m now at an age where I need reminder notes stuck all over our house. I also need cheater glasses to read anything, when my contacts are in. I also feel like Ben Gay is going to become a staple in our bathroom cabinet. Clearly, it’s because I peaked in the ’80s and now I’m just falling apart. I like to imagine that Cindy Crawford is suffering from the same ailments I am right now.)
Thing 2 sat down at the kitchen counter, with a pen and a paper and said, “What does WASH start with, Mom? Oh, never mind. DON’T TELL ME, MOM!!! I know this. Wuh, wuh, wuh… WASH. It starts with a W, doesn’t it, Mom?”
Yes, he’s a genius.
I mean, seriously. The kid is on the very brink of learning to read, at four and a half.
Then, after revealing his crazy-good phonetic skills, he promptly spiraled into a full-on meltdown because he couldn’t write a W that met his W standards. There were tears a-plenty, and enormous gripes of how the W is the hardest symbol in the entire universe to replicate! Thankfully, the boy intervened while I was packing lunches, and helped his little brother write a note, with a capital W to start it off with.
In the end, our smarty-pants preschooler knew that he needed a W for WASH, and he knew that he needed an SH for SHOES. Two weeks ago, I told him that an S and an H together make the SHHHH sound. He didn’t forget it.
He was quite happy with his note, when it was all finished. He left it on the kitchen island for me and said, “Don’t forget, Mom. I need the mud washed off of those shoes!”
His shoes are squeaky clean and good to go for tomorrow morning.
Y’all have a happy weekend.