Posts Tagged With: laundry

push

Why do we push

ourselves and others

into places we don’t really

want to go; corners we

can’t get out of?

I’m sitting on my couch, trying to drink my cup of tea before it cools, can’t even seem to manage that anymore. It’s 4:56am and it’s decaf. I’ve been awake about an hour and a half. HardWorker’s alarm is going off for the third time. The cat has already been out and in again. Fourth time. Just get the f@ck up, already! There’s little crawling scratchy noises coming from my living room ceiling — I’ve been hearing that for weeks — fifth time — and I’ve pretty much given up trying to figure out what it is. My tea is cold.

You know those things we join — those groups, those challenges, (sixth time) those write/draw/photograph/post/seventh time/plank/squat/whatever things we’ve all seen and been “challenged” to do and probably agreed to or signed on for? Why?? EIGHTH TIME.

I don’t know about you, but I really don’t need another thing to fail at; some other task I *seriously, just get up! ninth time* can’t complete. What is it about “human nature” that makes us put ourselves through these things? ‘Cause I’m pretty damn sure it’s not in my actual nature to complete anything — gestation aside — and yet I say ‘yes’ and join in. I have, on occasion, tried to get others to sign up.

It must have stopped snowing; seems darker out than it did two hours ago.

I mean, look, I’m here writing this incoherent meandering post (which

I probably won’t finish) instead of lying in bed sleeping because that’s just another challenge

I have failed at. By the way, if the formatting on this ends up being disjointed as well as the train of thought, that’s down to the stupidity of iOs and or app developers who are constantly updating games and shit but can’t seem to figure out how to make a page scroll above a keyboard. And why doesn’t the WP app recognize what has been written/edited/saved in WP in a browser?

But I digress. Here’s the thing: I stopped wearing my fitbit because I suck at remembering to put it back on after I shower, and most of the steps I take during the day are done with something (like a laundry basket) in my arms so they don’t ever seem to exist, and I already know how poorly

I am sleeping, thank you,

I don’t need you to remind me.

Even my favourite Spider Solitaire game decided to do an update that now has it keeping count of and displaying HOW MANY GAMES I’VE ABANDONED IN THE LAST SEVEN DAYS. Seriously. Who actually thought *that* was a critical piece of information that needed to be added???

Have I mentioned I’ve been awake since about 3:17??

On a side note: if *boyfriend* jeans and t-shirts and socks and whatever else is/are being designed and tailored for women, THEY’RE NOT REALLY *BOYFRIEND* CLOTHES ANYMORE.

And also, my grocery store has joined the ever-growing ranks of establishments offering healthy snacks instead of cookies to children who can’t make it through the shopping trip without a treat. (Why not adults? I took a clementine last week — sue me.) They even have a sign up: HEY KID’S, ENJOY A HEALTHY SNACK WHILE SHOPPING! Well, actually, they now have a sign up with the apostrophe circled and a little note beside it saying, “no apostrophe needed”. Oh, shit, I just remembered that last week I corrected a sign in another store that was drawing attention to the table of “STATIONARY” they were trying to unload. Some days I am not fit for human consumption .

I’m going to reheat my tea now. Good morning!

Categories: NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, Sleep, Uncategorized, words | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

tired

I am tired. “Tired?” you ask. Yeah, tired. “So go to bed earlier.”

Not that kind of tired. Well, not ONLY that kind of tired. Sure, I could stand a few more sleep cycles every night, but I don’t think it would make that much of a difference. And aside from that, going to bed earlier just means I’d have that much more time to lay awake chasing thoughts around in my head.

So physically tired is one thing. Yep, I’ve got that. Head nodding, eyes closing. Sure. Just not at night.

Tired of various things.

Tired of laundry. That’s pretty serious, because I actually really like doing laundry. Usually. Right now it just seems like there’s never any progress; there is always laundry in the hamper(s), there is always laundry in the dryer, there are always at least two baskets of clean clothes waiting to be put away. Too many clothes? Maybe.

Tired of being the one who has to enforce bedtime. Tired of having to ask the same questions over and over again: do you have any homework? did you brush your teeth? where is your coat? any reason these things are on the counter and not in the garbage? can you do the cat litter? Tired of things not being in the place I left them when I want to use them. Tired of being the only one who keeps track of what needs paying and when, and tired of feeling bad when it doesn’t get done.

Tired. Tired of feeling lost. Tired of feeling overwhelmed. Tired of never getting anything done because I’m doing 7 things at once. Tired of listening to broadcasters stumble over the same sentences over and over again. Tired of “Microsoft” calling me two to three times a week because my computer’s been sending them desperate messages. Tired of having too much stuff in the basement. Tired of people complaining that we have too much stuff but then turning around and giving me things. Sometimes I’m tired of being the person that knows things.

I’m getting tired of being up; being the one that smiles at everyone, the one that helps out, the one that buoys other people’s spirits. I’m tired of having great ideas for art, blog posts, poetry, etc., but having them when I’m asleep or in the shower or at the grocery store; no matter how neatly I write those ideas out in the empty space on the inside of my forehead, so I can just look up and read them later, they don’t stay. That surface is less like slate and more like cornstarch goop: solid while I’m working with it, painstakingly carving my thoughts onto that vast expanse, but turning to mush as soon as I finish, with all my words running into and over each other so as to be wholly unreadable.

I’m tired of missing people, dead or alive. I’m tired of not having anyone I can talk to, you know, other than the cat. I don’t tell the cat much, because I don’t completely trust her. My son is about to be 11 and I need to be the person he talks to, not the other way around. My partner has to talk/listen to people all day as well as having her own neuroses to deal with; by the time she gets home I’m too worn out anyway and she needs to chill. BFF? That’s a whole other story. Okay, cat it is.

Have I mentioned that I’m tired? Mentally, even spiritually, I guess. Weary. And I’m not sleeping all that well, either. I’m pretty tired of this post.

Categories: family, friendship, parenting | Tags: , , | 12 Comments

love, and circles

I wrote this in December 2013. For some reason I never published it. Maybe I thought it wasn’t finished. Maybe I just forgot. Maybe Christmas happened and who knows what else. I read it today, and I liked it. Just the way it is. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got circles of friendship on my mind.

***********************************************************

 

I am sick. It started with a feeling of just not being well, that achyness that comes with a fever. BoyGenius has had a cough for over a week already, but we had managed to avoid the stomach bug that had hit our and other area schools very heavily in the last three weeks, so I felt lucky to only be getting a cold. Ha! Within 12 hours I had such a cough that I was sure I had dislocated at least 6 ribs. Then the coughing sent my stomach into spasms and I was throwing up 2-3 times a day. BoyGenius’ cough became a bit more prevalent, then his whole thing morphed into more of a standard runny-nosed cold.

This journey began on Wednesday evening for me and I think today is Saturday. This afternoon I started having sneezing fits, dizziness, and excess tension in my jaw. But hey, my ribs are much better!

I don’t mind the whole cold/virus thing. Really. I drug myself up, use the neti pot and the peppermint oil, drink plenty of fluids, nap, watch movies with the boy and wait it out. Usually. But it’s, what, 4 days ’til Christmas? I was going to head up north to bring my mother down to our house on Thursday. Then Friday. Hasn’t happened yet. Cleaning the house in anticipation of her arrival hasn’t been finished yet, either. Oops.

There has been much couch-laying. There has been very little cooking. There has been even less cleaning. There has, however, been time to peruse e-mail and facebook. There have been lovely posts and messages from friends far and wide, new and old. There has been love, and there have been circles.

Circles? Yeah, circles. You know, people used the term “circle of friends” long before those Mexican folk-art candle holders became popular. Way back before they had “networks” they navigated. Circles are cool. I have many different circles of friends. Some of them are old (and even broken) like Stonehenge. Some are like satellites orbiting around a centre. Some are unexplained like crop circles. Some overlap in areas like venn diagrams. Some are loops, hoops or bangles, linked like chains or singular like in carnival ring-toss games.

Whatever they look like, you know what these circles do? They link us together. They carry us — our similarities, our differences, our likes and our dislikes, and most importantly, our feelings — so that we can share our lives, our loves and our hardships with one another. They let love spread out like ripples (hey, those are circles, too) and when my ripple circles meet your ripple circles they intermingle and can even send brand new ripples even further out.

Categories: family, friendship, parenting, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

a woman of a certain age

I’m pretty sure you’ve heard this term before: “a woman of a certain age.” You may have been hearing that you shouldn’t be doing something or wearing something.  You know, “a woman of a certain age shouldn’t dress like that!” You may even have been the one saying it! I’m here to offer an entirely new spin on that phrase.

I was at the grocery store the other day, just pulling into a parking spot and trying to remember what I was there to purchase when I spotted “a woman of a certain age” get out of her vehicle and start making her way across the parking lot. She was about 3 steps away from her SUV when she stopped in the middle of the oncoming traffic lane and started back towards her spot. She stopped again; turned back towards the store, took a look back at the hatch of her truck, opened it, took out a shopping bag. She took one more step in the direction of the store, stopped, turned back, re-opened her hatch, put the bag back, closed the hatch and marched off to the entrance doors, giving her head a little shake as she went. I laughed. I’ve done the exact same thing many times. And let me tell you, once you’re inside the store it’s often worse.

I walk BoyGenius to school every morning, hustling him up off the couch, away from the laptop, into the bathroom to brush teeth and hair, towards the door to get shoes on, check the weather and argue about a jacket, snack, homework, backpack. Same thing every morning. I push him and struggle internally about whether I should put socks on or not, which jacket and which shoes I should don. We are in a rush. We are not in a rush. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Day after day. Guess how often we are at the foot of the driveway before I realize that neither one of us has his knapsack? I’d hazard 3 out of 5 days.

I drive around with library books or dvds in my car. They come with me wherever I go. They are in there for one reason, and one reason only: to be returned to the library. They get moved from the front seat to the back seat, wind up hidden for a couple of days under some fast-food napkins and two or three jackets, then get re-discovered and replaced in the front seat. I pass the library at least twice a week … and then I get home, remember I have them and hope that I can also remember to log in to the library’s system and renew my items before midnight of their due date.

I have, on occasion over the last 8 years, stepped out of the shower, having turned the water off and draped a towel over myself, only to realize that I still had shampoo or conditioner in my hair. Yes, that’s right. I have also, on occasion over the last 8 years, stepped out of the shower, draped a towel over myself, grabbed another one to dry my hair and realized that my hair was hardly even wet, since I didn’t remember to wash it. The winning move, I think, is that I have even, on occasion over the last 8 years, stepped out of the shower and begun to dry myself only to realize that my underarms were sticking together … uh huh. I didn’t rinse the soap off.

I’ve done it all. I have left the dishwasher door open all day effectively keeping the cat from her food bowl. I have left my heated seat pad plugged in all night so that my car has no battery power in the morning. I have gone to get that one last thing to throw into the washer … only to return four hours later to find that I never did come back so the washer lid has remained open for all that time and the water is cold and the laundry is just sitting there in a tub full of water. I have boiled eggs until they pop — did you know that eggs pop just like popcorn? It’s not a pretty sight … or smell.

In the midst of all of this chaos, I have had an epiphany: being “a woman of a certain age” has absolutely nothing to do with your chronological age. You may have 23 years behind you, you may have 43 years behind you. Nowadays, in my humble opinion, being “a woman of a certain age” puts you squarely in the centre of the age of motherhood. People often speak of “baby brain” and attribute many quirks and bouts of forgetfulness to just that. My son is 8 years old. He’s no baby. It’s not “baby brain.” I am simply, and proudly, “a woman of a certain age.”

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | 11 Comments

ode to a bottle …

.. and a stick and a tube.  (So not what you are/were thinking!)

With a nod to Simon & Garfunkle, may I present the following for your singing/imagining pleasure:

Hello Spray’n’Wash my old friend, I’ve come to beg you once again; like your bottle all his jeans are green, all I ask is that you get them clean, while the seeds that have sprouted in the lawns, with springtime’s dawns .. become the fields of summer.

So, it’s springtime — and a young boy’s fancy turns to … to … rolling down hills! … sliding across the lawn like it was a broadway stage and he was in the chorus line! … diving to make that soccer save! Last night I did one load of laundry: 8 pair of little boy jeans, 1 pair of little boy track pants and 1 pair of little boy athletic pants.

the big three

It took me 27 minutes to pre-treat the knees, legs, hems, cuffs, back pockets and seams of the jeans. There was oxygenated stain removing powder in the laundry tub. I rubbed spray’n’wash liquid, oxi-clean gel and bio-kleen …  stuff on every bit of green I could find. I used detergent with additional zout stain remover. I filled the tub with hot water. The washer was on the 14 minute strong agitation setting. I waited, fingers crossed.

I have to admit, getting these knees clean will not be an easy task for any detergent or stain remover. They actually have what looks like a vinyl coating over the entire front of that section of pant leg. Seriously. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing if I could peel the green off like a layer that has been ironed on. I never knew grass could be so shiny. My mother always got our grass stains out. I have always been able to get BoyGenius’ grass stains out. Heck, I pride myself on my stain removal abilities. Even among his baby clothes, BoyGenius only had one outfit/shirt that had to be given up on. It didn’t matter if it was the orange of carrots or sweet potatoes or the green of broccoli or brussel sprouts (yes, he ate all those things … I’m a sahm, remember?), his clothes — with that one exception — came out clean every time. I can get mud and tree buds out. Chocolate pudding. Rib sauce. Rust. Automotive grease. Mayo. Whatever it is I can get it out. I can handle this. I’ve got it under control. I am in charge. I am good enough. I am strong enough. And gosh darn it I will not be beaten by grass!

Dammit. Dammit. 7 x dammit!  Only one pair of jeans actually look clean. Screw it. They’re going to look exactly the same next week. I’ll just tell people they’re organic jeans.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment

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