Moments of Glory

Did you think I was exaggerating? Nope. Sometimes it really is eighteen loads. Clean, but piled high. My usual excuse is that it’s a lot easier to shuttle laundry through the washer and dryer than it is to fold it with two tunnel-burrowing, back-climbing, pile-tipping boys in the house with me. (I really have actually cried over spilled laundry once or twice.) My excuse this week is that the blogosphere beckons. But I’m not as proud of my washday slothfulness as posting a picture of it on the World Wide Web would imply.

What I am proud of is that I convinced David to take the mostly potty-trained 3-year-old and my other favorite child to the National Zoo today (perfect weather!) so that I could catch up on the housework un-“assisted.” I’ve been itching to clean the kitchen floor, which has needed attention since I took a shower the other day, and it's really been too long since I was able to sit here and fold a mountain of laundry while taking in a little Colin Firth. Yep. That's what I call multi-tasking in its highest form. I can’t achieve that level of homemaking bliss with the sock throwers ever with me. Besides making my laundry folding job more like hunting and gathering (that’s man’s work!), they also tantrum (yes, that’s a verb) if they can’t watch THEIR shows when the TV is on. I can’t possibly be expected to fold laundry with tantrums happening (even if they are in another part of the house), and I definitely can’t fold laundry accompanied by THEIR shows. Diego just doesn’t do it for me like Darcy does. I explained this all to David, and he did it! He did it! He did it! Hurray! I scored four hours of quiet cleaning time. Of course, I was compelled to actually do housework once he left (which is why I didn’t get around to writing this until after the my-mama warriors were in bed), but it is still a proud, proud moment. Our house smells good now. And our feet don't stick. And our drawers and closets are no longer bare.

I am also proud that when I saw this HUGE wha-wha-whatever-it-is during today’s WetJetting frenzy, I didn’t hyperventilate. (My husband now says it's a cricket, but that was no mere cricket, believe me.) I tried to kill it, but it JUMPS, people! HIGH! FAR! UNPREDICTABLY! TOWARD MY BARE LEGS! So I banished it using the broom. And I didn’t even yelp or cry or run to the corner of the house directly opposite of the beast and stand on a chair. I took a picture of it. Which answers the age-old question: If a wife encounters a creature from hell while her husband is gone, does anyone hear her scream? Not if she's going to live to blog about it later.

One more thing I am proud of today: I made a blogger pal last week. I don’t think I’ve just walked up to someone and asked them to be my friend since kindergarten, so I’m out of the habit to say the least, but my alter-ego blogging extravert just up and decided to e-mail someone whose blog she liked. One small step for me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll talk to one of my neighbors, but even though they have woofers in their living room against the wall that touches my living room wall, I don’t think any of them would be as cool as her and put me on their blog roll! It makes me feel so celebrity, since before I only had a very local readership of 4.75 people (Henry has to have me read it to him, and I think he only understands ¾ of my humor). Thank you, thank you very much...You love me! You REALLY love me!

Incidentally, as soon as I figure out how to post a blog roll, Tess will be on mine, because she talks about very fun and interesting stuff, including Cornhole. I so want to learn how to play. I think I will study up on it, make me some corn bags and target boxes, and take it home to Colorado for the family reunion this summer. Funny if “city slicker” me could take back a game that involves actual corn kernels to the home of the Olathe Sweet Corn Festival. Maybe then they will know that you can’t take the Colorado out of the girl. Now THAT would be a moment of glory.