Lost: One mind. If found please contact Randi Holt. Thank You.
For heavens sake, I can’t find ANYTHING!!! Since my sapphire fiasco, everything I touch seems to go missing.
Wednesday the 25th was our last Girl Scout meeting. We had a HUGE luau and took many photos. After clean up, I headed straight home, unloaded the van and chilled for a bit. When I fianlly decided to put everything away, I realized my camera was missing. I thought I had grabbed it, but I guess not. I jumped in the van and headed back to the hut, but found nothing. I am pretty sure no troops met after us, but who knows. The camera is gone. (Chill Al, I’ll find it). Such a bummer too because Ashton and Kayl took some killer pictures of me and Kim (like I need more of those).
Thought I lost my I-POD, can you imagine?! I can’t live without that thing. I went on a mad search of the house last night after the kids went to bed. Found it, thank heaven….but it had been missing since Friday.
Lost my set of keys on Saturday morning, but had found them by Sunday afternoon.
Now I can’t seem to find the coat hooks I picked up for the kids rooms. I’ve searched all the logical places, and some not so logical places….but to no avail. And I was so excited about hanging them this morning.
What is going on here? Oddly enough, I usually plunge head first into a panic attack when I can’t find something. It’s been that way for years. Keys missing? Search a bit then stand in the center of the living room spinning in circles and hyperventilating. Call Kim or my mom, calm down, search again.
Not this time. For the last couple of weeks I have been strangely calm. For heavens sake….I’ve lost my sapphire and a $500.00 digital camera all within a week of each other and I’m not yet hospitalized for observation. Something is very wrong here.
Perhaps I have finally perfected the art of desensitization. Even this morning as I sat discussing Ashton’s homework habits (or lack there of). She was her usual defensive self, yelling that it wasn’t her fault. I was calm and collected. I allowed her to rant and rave and then calmly explained my point of view.
Now honestly….anyone who knows us knows that Ashton and I are one in the same. Both stubborn, both hardheaded, both have to be in control, and both must always have the last word. I, like Ashton, do not take being yelled at very well. We tend to get into a battle of the wills, and always seem to end up so pissed we can’t be in the same room. (Man I love that girl….she is her mother’s daughter).
Anyway, this morning was completly unlike me. I stayed calm and quiet while she gave excuse after excuse about why she doesn't bring her homework HOME. She probably left for school thinking aliens had invaded in the night and swapped her mother for a look alike.
This is so odd, this more relaxed side of me. Nice, but odd. It will take a little getting used to. I really do hope the calmer me decides to stick around for a while. I just wish I could find my camera.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Potter
Okay, taking a risk writing this. I assume everyone has a guilty pleasure. A little something they love yet would not want to share with anyone for fear of being ostracized. For some it might perhaps be a music group…like secretly jamming to The Backstreet Boys when riding in your car with the windows rolled up. Perhaps it is renting Raise Your Voice on pay-per-view because you fear someone will scoff at your enjoyment of Hillary Duff movies. Or maybe it is a secret comfort…like a teddy-bear hidden deep in the recesses of your closet. THANKFULLY, none of these are my guilty pleasures. However, I do indeed have one. Mine….Harry Potter. I love the movies, I love the books even more. I am wildly addicted to everything Potter.
The truth is, when the books came out I couldn’t stand the thought of reading them. The fact that people were so “obsessed” with Harry Potter disgusted me. When the first movie came out I wanted NOTHING to do with it either, but my children begged and pleaded, so I gave in. We rented The Sorcerer’s Stone and I was HOOKED. Wow.
Alex had actually read the books long before I. He kept insisting that I needed to take the time to read them myself. Fine. I borrowed the first from Jazmin and all was lost. THE GOBLET of FIRE is by far my favorite. I have even decided that no one else in the world will be capable of pulling off a better “Tonks” than I. Watching THE ORDER of the PHOENIX may very well be torture knowing that I was meant to play that part.
A couple Januaries ago I was returning from Tokyo when Kim and I wandered into a Disney store. I spied a single Golden Snitch charm and grabbed it up. Kim said it would be the perfect gift for Kayl. “Oh no, this isn’t for him,” I replied….”it is MINE!!” It still hangs discreetly from my cell phone.
If you happen to wander into my bedroom and pick up the latest book I am reading (ANGELS by Marian Keyes) you will find tucked within the pages the Sorting Hat bookmark Kayl bought for me last year. And Shoved in the center of my magazine basket is the copy of Movie Magic that was wholly dedicated to the Harry Potter movies just prior to the release of Prisoner of Azkaban.
I’ve purchased the Harry Potter board game and trading cards for “my kids”. Who, I might add, enjoy the movies as much as I. And last summer I directed the children during Vacation Bible School wearing Rob’s Gryffindor tie. I offered to pay him for it, but he just couldn’t part with the thing. No worries, I have plans to buy one for myself at The Leaky Cauldron.com, along with a few other items. There’s a lovely Slytherin ring that would look fabulous on my thumb, or perhaps the charm bracelet! Classy!! (wink)
I recall one afternoon when I decided to settle in for a Potter-a-thon. The moment I realized my Sorcerer’s Stone DVD was scratched I rushed to the BX to replace it. Heaven forbid this house not hold the full set of movies for any length of time. I also own all the books in hardback. My treasures. They each hold a hallowed place on my bedroom bookshelf. No, I won’t loan them out! HA!
Reading the Potter books is a great adventure for me. I cannot explain to you the excitement that wells up in me when I think that July 16th of this year I will hold Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in my hot little hand. I considered purchasing it online, but after I spoke with the manager at the Bookmark I decided I could just as easily be waiting at the door on that day. Just a forewarning: I will be unavailable for social calls that day…as I will be hold up in my room, my imagination lost somewhere in the HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY.
Okay, so perhaps I’ve gone a bit overboard with Harry-itis, however I am POSITIVE there are those who are thoroughly worse off than I. Honestly, I could be a Trek-ie. No offense to those of you who are. May you all “Live long & Prosper”. At any rate, the Potter series remains my “guilty pleasure”. Although I might not be able to call it “guilty” anymore considering I just shared it on my blog! The SHAME!!!
The truth is, when the books came out I couldn’t stand the thought of reading them. The fact that people were so “obsessed” with Harry Potter disgusted me. When the first movie came out I wanted NOTHING to do with it either, but my children begged and pleaded, so I gave in. We rented The Sorcerer’s Stone and I was HOOKED. Wow.
Alex had actually read the books long before I. He kept insisting that I needed to take the time to read them myself. Fine. I borrowed the first from Jazmin and all was lost. THE GOBLET of FIRE is by far my favorite. I have even decided that no one else in the world will be capable of pulling off a better “Tonks” than I. Watching THE ORDER of the PHOENIX may very well be torture knowing that I was meant to play that part.
A couple Januaries ago I was returning from Tokyo when Kim and I wandered into a Disney store. I spied a single Golden Snitch charm and grabbed it up. Kim said it would be the perfect gift for Kayl. “Oh no, this isn’t for him,” I replied….”it is MINE!!” It still hangs discreetly from my cell phone.
If you happen to wander into my bedroom and pick up the latest book I am reading (ANGELS by Marian Keyes) you will find tucked within the pages the Sorting Hat bookmark Kayl bought for me last year. And Shoved in the center of my magazine basket is the copy of Movie Magic that was wholly dedicated to the Harry Potter movies just prior to the release of Prisoner of Azkaban.
I’ve purchased the Harry Potter board game and trading cards for “my kids”. Who, I might add, enjoy the movies as much as I. And last summer I directed the children during Vacation Bible School wearing Rob’s Gryffindor tie. I offered to pay him for it, but he just couldn’t part with the thing. No worries, I have plans to buy one for myself at The Leaky Cauldron.com, along with a few other items. There’s a lovely Slytherin ring that would look fabulous on my thumb, or perhaps the charm bracelet! Classy!! (wink)
I recall one afternoon when I decided to settle in for a Potter-a-thon. The moment I realized my Sorcerer’s Stone DVD was scratched I rushed to the BX to replace it. Heaven forbid this house not hold the full set of movies for any length of time. I also own all the books in hardback. My treasures. They each hold a hallowed place on my bedroom bookshelf. No, I won’t loan them out! HA!
Reading the Potter books is a great adventure for me. I cannot explain to you the excitement that wells up in me when I think that July 16th of this year I will hold Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in my hot little hand. I considered purchasing it online, but after I spoke with the manager at the Bookmark I decided I could just as easily be waiting at the door on that day. Just a forewarning: I will be unavailable for social calls that day…as I will be hold up in my room, my imagination lost somewhere in the HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY.
Okay, so perhaps I’ve gone a bit overboard with Harry-itis, however I am POSITIVE there are those who are thoroughly worse off than I. Honestly, I could be a Trek-ie. No offense to those of you who are. May you all “Live long & Prosper”. At any rate, the Potter series remains my “guilty pleasure”. Although I might not be able to call it “guilty” anymore considering I just shared it on my blog! The SHAME!!!
Monday, May 23, 2005
Carpets
Taking a short break from cleaning my carpets. I woke this morning around 4:30 and the thought occurred to me: That carpet cleaner has been sitting in my van since Thursday and I have to return it today! So up I jumped and began preparing the house for a “quick” carpet scrub, that is, after I made phone call to Alex, spent some time reading and sending e-mail, and read another chapter in my book. I wouldn’t want to neglect that. A girl really must have her priorities in order! Anyway, after all that stuff I prepared the house for the carpet scrub.
My living area now smells like bleach. Yes people I said bleach. I’m not completely sure if the housing office would be thrilled with my choice to clean their carpets with bleach water, but I have found that it is the ONLY way to get these carpets even semi-clean. As long as I am careful not to get to close to the red rug in my living room all will be well. I use a regular cleaning solution on that rug, but the rest of my house…bleach, bleach, and more bleach.
I scrubbed the floors only three months ago, but they are once again filthy. We don’t even wear shoes in this house, yet somehow the dirt rises from deep beneath the carpets to haunt my every waking moment. Okay, maybe it isn’t that bad…but it is dirty none the less and something has to be done.
Bleach is my great equalizer! Dirt and Germs Beware, I will hunt you down and find you. There is no room for you here. Yeah right,…no matter how often I clean there always seems to be more to do. Right now, the bathrooms could use a good cleansing, as could my pantry. My refrigerator thankfully is sparkling considering I scrub it every two weeks before I buy groceries. Well, that and the fact that it seems to leak water from the freezer so I have to sop it up every couple of days.
Even the outside begs for my attention. Although I often choose NOT to listen to that voice. My back yard needs picked up. Ashton seems to have decided that Harold’s cage will stand in the yard forever as a memorial to her two-day pet. Along with a set of Tristyn’s many pairs of slippers, (flip-flops to you back home). I just glanced out my bedroom window at the eyesore we call a swing set. It is only two years old; however, metal and the salt-air of Okinawa do not seem to get along so well. Whatever, it is still safe and the kids use it, so up it stays! My beautiful patio furniture looks so sad in the midst of the wasteland my children have created.
The front yard looks good, shockingly enough. It could use a mow and trim, but I have issues, so until I find a lawn guy…. I bought Braeden and Micaiah watering cans a couple months back and just as I had hoped they have taken to caring for the outdoor plants. Finally, someone who can grow things outside. I am strictly an indoor green-thumbist (now I am making up words). Oh, and lest I forget, there is much laundry to be done…much, much laundry. BLAH! My nemesis.
Back to the floors…..
Woo, another two rooms down. My fish are probably praying that death will come quickly. And poor Sumo, I won’t even let him walk around. He is stuck in the kitchen. My eyes are burning, perhaps I should open another window….ya think?! It smells like a swimming pool in here. A pool that has been overchemicalized (again, another made up word from the recesses of my mind. ha ha ha). Now if I can just get through the girls room, my room, and the disgusting entry floor, all will be SWEEEEET! I think I might be delirious. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Good Times!!
And cleaning resumes…..
AH!!! FINISHED! My eyes are about to float out of my head, and all my nose hairs are all burned out, but my carpets are clean clean clean….at least for a bit.
My living area now smells like bleach. Yes people I said bleach. I’m not completely sure if the housing office would be thrilled with my choice to clean their carpets with bleach water, but I have found that it is the ONLY way to get these carpets even semi-clean. As long as I am careful not to get to close to the red rug in my living room all will be well. I use a regular cleaning solution on that rug, but the rest of my house…bleach, bleach, and more bleach.
I scrubbed the floors only three months ago, but they are once again filthy. We don’t even wear shoes in this house, yet somehow the dirt rises from deep beneath the carpets to haunt my every waking moment. Okay, maybe it isn’t that bad…but it is dirty none the less and something has to be done.
Bleach is my great equalizer! Dirt and Germs Beware, I will hunt you down and find you. There is no room for you here. Yeah right,…no matter how often I clean there always seems to be more to do. Right now, the bathrooms could use a good cleansing, as could my pantry. My refrigerator thankfully is sparkling considering I scrub it every two weeks before I buy groceries. Well, that and the fact that it seems to leak water from the freezer so I have to sop it up every couple of days.
Even the outside begs for my attention. Although I often choose NOT to listen to that voice. My back yard needs picked up. Ashton seems to have decided that Harold’s cage will stand in the yard forever as a memorial to her two-day pet. Along with a set of Tristyn’s many pairs of slippers, (flip-flops to you back home). I just glanced out my bedroom window at the eyesore we call a swing set. It is only two years old; however, metal and the salt-air of Okinawa do not seem to get along so well. Whatever, it is still safe and the kids use it, so up it stays! My beautiful patio furniture looks so sad in the midst of the wasteland my children have created.
The front yard looks good, shockingly enough. It could use a mow and trim, but I have issues, so until I find a lawn guy…. I bought Braeden and Micaiah watering cans a couple months back and just as I had hoped they have taken to caring for the outdoor plants. Finally, someone who can grow things outside. I am strictly an indoor green-thumbist (now I am making up words). Oh, and lest I forget, there is much laundry to be done…much, much laundry. BLAH! My nemesis.
Back to the floors…..
Woo, another two rooms down. My fish are probably praying that death will come quickly. And poor Sumo, I won’t even let him walk around. He is stuck in the kitchen. My eyes are burning, perhaps I should open another window….ya think?! It smells like a swimming pool in here. A pool that has been overchemicalized (again, another made up word from the recesses of my mind. ha ha ha). Now if I can just get through the girls room, my room, and the disgusting entry floor, all will be SWEEEEET! I think I might be delirious. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Good Times!!
And cleaning resumes…..
AH!!! FINISHED! My eyes are about to float out of my head, and all my nose hairs are all burned out, but my carpets are clean clean clean….at least for a bit.
Ring
Okay, breathe, breathe. Oddly enough, I have been very composed during this difficult time – strike that, tragedy. I have lost my ring. Well, not the “ring” per-se', but the STONE from my ring. This is the ring that Alex had his grandmother send to me for our 10-year anniversary. I LOVE THIS RING! It is magnificent. A beautiful dark blue sapphire surrounded by eighteen diamonds. Stunning. It must have come loose when I was cleaning Braeden and Micaiah’s room on Wednesday. I remember hitting it against the wall, but it didn't seem loose when I checked it.
Saturday morning I decided to be lazy. I even skipped a baby shower because I didn't feel like getting dressed before noon. When I finally decided to drag my rear out of bed and hop in the shower, it was about 12:30. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Anyhow, after my shower I went through my usual regimen of lotion, blow-dry, iron clothes, make-up, dress, body spray, jewelry. I distinctly remember looking at the stone and wiping a smudge off it. Then I was out the door.
The kids and I loaded in the van and drove to Torii beach, music blaring, wind in our hair, my right hand hanging out the window….I may have lost it then, dunno. We arrived at the BBQ about 2:00. The kids were off to play at the park, or the beach, or both. I made my usual rounds…”Hi Rain”, “Heya, Joan”, “’Sup Dan and Ben”. There was much talking, which means my hands were moving 100 miles an hour. Moreover, I am a big hugger, so many pats on the back. Could have lost it then.
An hour or so into the BBQ Joan was introducing me to some new people when she says “Oh Randi, what happened to your ring?” What? I look down and staring back at me is a big empty space where my sapphire used to reside. *gasp* Oh god, what am I going to do?
Enter slight fear then composure. There was absolutely nothing I could do about this situation. I made a quick announcement to the group that the stone was missing and if anyone happened upon it could they please let me know. Then the search began. Fifteen grown men and a handful of women (not to mention all the kids) were walking around heads down scanning the ground. We must have been quite the sight! Bob was kind enough to ask where I had been standing….CURSES on my social butterfly status!! “Well, over there, and there, I was over there for a bit, and over here…” For heaven’s sake! Am I completely incapable of standing in ONE place for an hour?!
Joan and Rain kept insisting they would be in tears had it been thier ring. Nevertheless, I was not. For a brief moment, I thought my husband wound freak. Then I came to my senses and realized that Alex rarely freaks out about anything. He will likely never buy me another piece of jewelry, but he will not be upset.
I have since searched the van, the house, and we have even returned to the scene of the loss, but to no avail. The gem is long gone. I miss my ring. My finger looks terribly lonely and empty without it. There is a bright side however…this may very well constitute another trip to Thailand. Where better to pick up a shiny new sapphire?! If only I could convince Alex. If only!
Saturday morning I decided to be lazy. I even skipped a baby shower because I didn't feel like getting dressed before noon. When I finally decided to drag my rear out of bed and hop in the shower, it was about 12:30. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Anyhow, after my shower I went through my usual regimen of lotion, blow-dry, iron clothes, make-up, dress, body spray, jewelry. I distinctly remember looking at the stone and wiping a smudge off it. Then I was out the door.
The kids and I loaded in the van and drove to Torii beach, music blaring, wind in our hair, my right hand hanging out the window….I may have lost it then, dunno. We arrived at the BBQ about 2:00. The kids were off to play at the park, or the beach, or both. I made my usual rounds…”Hi Rain”, “Heya, Joan”, “’Sup Dan and Ben”. There was much talking, which means my hands were moving 100 miles an hour. Moreover, I am a big hugger, so many pats on the back. Could have lost it then.
An hour or so into the BBQ Joan was introducing me to some new people when she says “Oh Randi, what happened to your ring?” What? I look down and staring back at me is a big empty space where my sapphire used to reside. *gasp* Oh god, what am I going to do?
Enter slight fear then composure. There was absolutely nothing I could do about this situation. I made a quick announcement to the group that the stone was missing and if anyone happened upon it could they please let me know. Then the search began. Fifteen grown men and a handful of women (not to mention all the kids) were walking around heads down scanning the ground. We must have been quite the sight! Bob was kind enough to ask where I had been standing….CURSES on my social butterfly status!! “Well, over there, and there, I was over there for a bit, and over here…” For heaven’s sake! Am I completely incapable of standing in ONE place for an hour?!
Joan and Rain kept insisting they would be in tears had it been thier ring. Nevertheless, I was not. For a brief moment, I thought my husband wound freak. Then I came to my senses and realized that Alex rarely freaks out about anything. He will likely never buy me another piece of jewelry, but he will not be upset.
I have since searched the van, the house, and we have even returned to the scene of the loss, but to no avail. The gem is long gone. I miss my ring. My finger looks terribly lonely and empty without it. There is a bright side however…this may very well constitute another trip to Thailand. Where better to pick up a shiny new sapphire?! If only I could convince Alex. If only!
Sunday, May 22, 2005
My 2004 Hit Song
Vertigo by U2 |
 "The night is full of holes Those bullets rip the sky Of ink with gold They twinkle as the boys play rock and roll" In 2004 you partied so hard... you forgot how to count. |
Thursday, May 19, 2005
New Kayl
Style. It is a tricky thing. It varies from person to person, and in the worst of circumstances will skip someone completely.
My son Kayl may very well be the sweetest person I have ever met. Funny, kind, and obedient, I rarely have to ask him twice to do anything. He is helpful and quiet spoken, a hard worker, and determined young man. He is very much his father’s son. Unfortunately, like his dad he also doesn’t have much style sense.
I must break in and clarify here. For the last two years, my husband has done little more than exude style. He owns as many pairs of shoes as I. A few months back he came home from a trip, emptied his closet and re-filled it with one quick swipe of his hand. He has been known to muffle the mouthpiece when I am on the phone with him just to ask, “Do you have that in a large?” Oh yes, the man loves to look nice, and he does.
His hair is always perfect. His clothes always crisp and pressed before he walks out the door. As far as I am concerned, it is a rare moment when Alex does not look “tasty”. However, he is 29 and it took him a long, long time to reach this point. When he was young, he was the typical “cut off shorts and old ratty t-shirt” boy. He wore tinted glasses and let his very curly red hair run amuck. He would wear whatever he owned, regardless of style or age. I am pretty sure up until 3 years ago he still had an old blue “netted” football shirt hanging in his closet…OOOOO, scary! Anyhow, none of that matters now, it is all behind him and he has metamorphosed into this very stylish, absolutely yummy guy.
Kayl on the other hand seems to be stuck with his daddy’s “younger days” style. He really doesn’t care too much what he wears, any old shoes, any old shirt, ripped up jeans; it is no matter to him. His only request? Clean socks without holes, nice comfortable boxer briefs, and a haircut when it reaches his ears. It’s a start.
The other day I asked Kayl what he wanted for his birthday. All of my other kids thus far have gotten new clothes this year. I figured this is what Kayl would be getting also, but decided to ask anyhow. “Oh, I want a guitar or an MP3 player.” I quietly think to myself…no problem, Al bought him a new guitar on this trip and I intend on giving him my old MP3 player anyhow…so clothes it is. Notice, he never did ASK me for them.
Then Kim comes over for dinner. Now, Kim has two teenage daughters who seem to make an appearance only when they are bored and their friends know food is involved. So shortly after Kim arrives, “Vito” (De’jana) and 4 of her friends drive up. They invade the house, eat, drink, and chill. We were all having a good time listening to their many "teenage drama" stories and swapping ring tones.
One friend in particular seemed to stand out in the crowd, J’miah. This boy is loud, funny, and pristine from head to toe. Dressed in sparkling white tennis shoes, black Dickies, a white wife-beater and an oversized, royal blue button-down shirt. His baseball cap was flat billed and slightly ajar, and his “Friday only” earrings, that his parents hate, were sparkling in the light. They are 4-carat diamonds worn in each ear, put in every Friday after he leaves the house, and removed right before entering again.
After the kids got bored with us old folks and took off, Kayl walked into the living room sporting black slacks, a black belt, and a VERY oversized white button-down shirt with some odd sort of crest embroidered on the pocket. And to top it all off the shirt was snugly tucked into his pants. Oh heavens, This boy needs help. “Ms. Kim, can you get me some new clothes like J’miah’s for my birthday?” Kim proceeded to school Kayl in the art of style. “Don’t tuck Kayl, and although the button-down is nice, you should probably try one without a crest. Always layer with a wife-beater and Randi,” she said turning to me, “the boy needs some bling.” “He is crying out !” seems to be Kim’s phrase of late. Therefore, instead of games and toys, my son is getting a fashion makeover for his 11th birthday.
De’jana and Jazmyn took the initiative and gave Kayl an online tour of clothing stores. They patiently and excitedly showed him examples of what exactly he was going to need. Gave him tips on shoes, pants, and layering, and taught him the fine art of size selection. The boy was ecstatic.
The following day he began to fill online shopping baskets with his picks. He would carefully examine each item before adding it to his basket. He was adamant about having full outfits. He even added a swimsuit. When he had finished he called me to the computer, sat me down in the chair and left me to analyze each finding. I looked, added a few things, removed a few things, approved the final basket and clicked “ORDER”. In a couple of weeks, my son should have a lovely selection of button-downs, Dickies, under-shirts, and a new ball cap (my little surprise for him).
Kim and I have discussed making his birthday into a complete makeover session, complete with new outfits (courtesy of Auntie Kim), a new haircut, some new shoes (my addition), and an ear piercing. Kayl has been begging to have his ear pierced for two years now. Alex is completely against it….which is bull seeing as how he has two of his own. Nevertheless, we will see. I’ll just have to feel the situation out a little. Maybe I’ll even get the boy a manicure & pedicure. Hey, don’t give me hell about it. I know PLENTY of guys that do it. Makes ya feel good about yourself.
Either way, I can feel the tides changing in our home. I suppose my next step will be teaching Kayl how to iron his clothes and keep his shoes blazing white (thanks Kyle for the years of knowledge). Simplicity is about to fly out the window.
My son Kayl may very well be the sweetest person I have ever met. Funny, kind, and obedient, I rarely have to ask him twice to do anything. He is helpful and quiet spoken, a hard worker, and determined young man. He is very much his father’s son. Unfortunately, like his dad he also doesn’t have much style sense.
I must break in and clarify here. For the last two years, my husband has done little more than exude style. He owns as many pairs of shoes as I. A few months back he came home from a trip, emptied his closet and re-filled it with one quick swipe of his hand. He has been known to muffle the mouthpiece when I am on the phone with him just to ask, “Do you have that in a large?” Oh yes, the man loves to look nice, and he does.
His hair is always perfect. His clothes always crisp and pressed before he walks out the door. As far as I am concerned, it is a rare moment when Alex does not look “tasty”. However, he is 29 and it took him a long, long time to reach this point. When he was young, he was the typical “cut off shorts and old ratty t-shirt” boy. He wore tinted glasses and let his very curly red hair run amuck. He would wear whatever he owned, regardless of style or age. I am pretty sure up until 3 years ago he still had an old blue “netted” football shirt hanging in his closet…OOOOO, scary! Anyhow, none of that matters now, it is all behind him and he has metamorphosed into this very stylish, absolutely yummy guy.
Kayl on the other hand seems to be stuck with his daddy’s “younger days” style. He really doesn’t care too much what he wears, any old shoes, any old shirt, ripped up jeans; it is no matter to him. His only request? Clean socks without holes, nice comfortable boxer briefs, and a haircut when it reaches his ears. It’s a start.
The other day I asked Kayl what he wanted for his birthday. All of my other kids thus far have gotten new clothes this year. I figured this is what Kayl would be getting also, but decided to ask anyhow. “Oh, I want a guitar or an MP3 player.” I quietly think to myself…no problem, Al bought him a new guitar on this trip and I intend on giving him my old MP3 player anyhow…so clothes it is. Notice, he never did ASK me for them.
Then Kim comes over for dinner. Now, Kim has two teenage daughters who seem to make an appearance only when they are bored and their friends know food is involved. So shortly after Kim arrives, “Vito” (De’jana) and 4 of her friends drive up. They invade the house, eat, drink, and chill. We were all having a good time listening to their many "teenage drama" stories and swapping ring tones.
One friend in particular seemed to stand out in the crowd, J’miah. This boy is loud, funny, and pristine from head to toe. Dressed in sparkling white tennis shoes, black Dickies, a white wife-beater and an oversized, royal blue button-down shirt. His baseball cap was flat billed and slightly ajar, and his “Friday only” earrings, that his parents hate, were sparkling in the light. They are 4-carat diamonds worn in each ear, put in every Friday after he leaves the house, and removed right before entering again.
After the kids got bored with us old folks and took off, Kayl walked into the living room sporting black slacks, a black belt, and a VERY oversized white button-down shirt with some odd sort of crest embroidered on the pocket. And to top it all off the shirt was snugly tucked into his pants. Oh heavens, This boy needs help. “Ms. Kim, can you get me some new clothes like J’miah’s for my birthday?” Kim proceeded to school Kayl in the art of style. “Don’t tuck Kayl, and although the button-down is nice, you should probably try one without a crest. Always layer with a wife-beater and Randi,” she said turning to me, “the boy needs some bling.” “He is crying out !” seems to be Kim’s phrase of late. Therefore, instead of games and toys, my son is getting a fashion makeover for his 11th birthday.
De’jana and Jazmyn took the initiative and gave Kayl an online tour of clothing stores. They patiently and excitedly showed him examples of what exactly he was going to need. Gave him tips on shoes, pants, and layering, and taught him the fine art of size selection. The boy was ecstatic.
The following day he began to fill online shopping baskets with his picks. He would carefully examine each item before adding it to his basket. He was adamant about having full outfits. He even added a swimsuit. When he had finished he called me to the computer, sat me down in the chair and left me to analyze each finding. I looked, added a few things, removed a few things, approved the final basket and clicked “ORDER”. In a couple of weeks, my son should have a lovely selection of button-downs, Dickies, under-shirts, and a new ball cap (my little surprise for him).
Kim and I have discussed making his birthday into a complete makeover session, complete with new outfits (courtesy of Auntie Kim), a new haircut, some new shoes (my addition), and an ear piercing. Kayl has been begging to have his ear pierced for two years now. Alex is completely against it….which is bull seeing as how he has two of his own. Nevertheless, we will see. I’ll just have to feel the situation out a little. Maybe I’ll even get the boy a manicure & pedicure. Hey, don’t give me hell about it. I know PLENTY of guys that do it. Makes ya feel good about yourself.
Either way, I can feel the tides changing in our home. I suppose my next step will be teaching Kayl how to iron his clothes and keep his shoes blazing white (thanks Kyle for the years of knowledge). Simplicity is about to fly out the window.
Ah Sleep
11:00pm and all is quiet. Yes, that is right; all my babies are sound asleep and have been for the last hour and a half. Now, this may seem quite natural to you, but in the Holt home, this is no small feat.
You see, I happen to reside in a home full of nocturnal children. My kids just DO NOT SLEEP!! Even after I send them to bed at 8:30, they will lay there reading, talking, and laughing. The decibel level in this house rarely diminishes before 11:00. This of course does not apply to Braeden or Micaiah. Braeden usually tapers down around 12:00. Moreover, Micaiah will not even THINK about sleeping until I am tucked comfortably under my covers. She will sit quietly at my feet, playing with Barbies or coloring until my light goes out.
I can’t recall if I was a night owl when I was very young, but I can remember staying up into the wee hours as a teenager. Then when Al and I lived in Colorado, I would stay up all night until he got home from work. In Colorado I didn’t mind that Ashton and Kayl stayed up all night with me because it meant they would sleep late into the morning, thus I could sleep late into the morning. As the kids got older I do believe their love for the night just caught on, and it seems to have been passed down to the younger children.
Now that the kids are in school the fact that they stay up so late drives me LOONEY!! They are not difficult to wake in the morning. In fact, the four older ones all wake and ready themselves, often without my ever knowing. I have even woke at 9:00am to find the house still and peaceful, then realized the time and jumped out of bed frantic at the thought that the kids were late for school. Nope, all was well. They made it just fine without me.
Nighttime is when I get my work done. I do laundry, read, e-mail, write, and I clean. This is my time….only it seems to be their time as well. Part of me envies morning people. I have always wondered if I would be capable of having a regular job. For heaven sake, I can’t even seem to be showered, dressed, done up & kids ready before 11:00 in the morning! The few morning appointments that I have been forced into have almost brought me to tears. If I am up early, the rest of my day is shot. I am tired & lethargic all day long. No people, I am not lazy. Where most folks sleep at 10:00, wake at 5:00 or 6:00, I sleep at 3:00 or 4:00 wake at 9:00. Basically, I am getting the same amount of sleep, just on a different schedule.
It is almost sad when Alex is home. Our sleep schedules fight each other. He has to be up at 4:00 in the morning and I don’t want to sleep until then. He’ll try to stay up with me, but to no avail. After a few days of that, and he is dragging. I do tend to fall asleep a bit earlier when he is home. Maybe by 1:00 or 2:00. Unfortunately, the habit seems to break the second he walks out the door again.
Maybe someday I will adjust my schedule, but right now, it works for me. It is times like these, when the house is quiet and all is still that I can relax. I think I will get off here and go clean my house, I have plenty of time before bed.
You see, I happen to reside in a home full of nocturnal children. My kids just DO NOT SLEEP!! Even after I send them to bed at 8:30, they will lay there reading, talking, and laughing. The decibel level in this house rarely diminishes before 11:00. This of course does not apply to Braeden or Micaiah. Braeden usually tapers down around 12:00. Moreover, Micaiah will not even THINK about sleeping until I am tucked comfortably under my covers. She will sit quietly at my feet, playing with Barbies or coloring until my light goes out.
I can’t recall if I was a night owl when I was very young, but I can remember staying up into the wee hours as a teenager. Then when Al and I lived in Colorado, I would stay up all night until he got home from work. In Colorado I didn’t mind that Ashton and Kayl stayed up all night with me because it meant they would sleep late into the morning, thus I could sleep late into the morning. As the kids got older I do believe their love for the night just caught on, and it seems to have been passed down to the younger children.
Now that the kids are in school the fact that they stay up so late drives me LOONEY!! They are not difficult to wake in the morning. In fact, the four older ones all wake and ready themselves, often without my ever knowing. I have even woke at 9:00am to find the house still and peaceful, then realized the time and jumped out of bed frantic at the thought that the kids were late for school. Nope, all was well. They made it just fine without me.
Nighttime is when I get my work done. I do laundry, read, e-mail, write, and I clean. This is my time….only it seems to be their time as well. Part of me envies morning people. I have always wondered if I would be capable of having a regular job. For heaven sake, I can’t even seem to be showered, dressed, done up & kids ready before 11:00 in the morning! The few morning appointments that I have been forced into have almost brought me to tears. If I am up early, the rest of my day is shot. I am tired & lethargic all day long. No people, I am not lazy. Where most folks sleep at 10:00, wake at 5:00 or 6:00, I sleep at 3:00 or 4:00 wake at 9:00. Basically, I am getting the same amount of sleep, just on a different schedule.
It is almost sad when Alex is home. Our sleep schedules fight each other. He has to be up at 4:00 in the morning and I don’t want to sleep until then. He’ll try to stay up with me, but to no avail. After a few days of that, and he is dragging. I do tend to fall asleep a bit earlier when he is home. Maybe by 1:00 or 2:00. Unfortunately, the habit seems to break the second he walks out the door again.
Maybe someday I will adjust my schedule, but right now, it works for me. It is times like these, when the house is quiet and all is still that I can relax. I think I will get off here and go clean my house, I have plenty of time before bed.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Decorating
Another 8 hours. This is the amount of time I spent at Kim’s tonight, re-decorating her bedroom. And I was OH so happy to do it. Considering I have been begging her for the last 5 years to allow me to create a haven for her.
We cleaned off dressers, drilled holes, hung curtains and turned that hodge podge catch all into a “Lounge of Luxury”. It is amazing the way watching a room come together can make you feel. I have re-decorated her living room and dining room. Held her hand as I urged her to let go of the overwhelming amount of Tupperware and Rubbermaid containers in her kitchen. Completely rearranged her office three or four times….I’ve lost count. We’ve re-done the upstairs hall and cleaned out numerous closets. All the while I would gently push (and sometimes shove) her to PURGE PURGE PURGE!!!
You see, Kim is a bit of a “pack-rat”. She just can’t part with anything. I do believe at one point she had seven salt and pepper shakers and three knife blocks in her kitchen. She has Girl Scout paperwork from 10 years ago and candlesticks that she has never used. There are school papers from years back, earrings the size of hubcaps, phonebooks from when we lived stateside, and more key chains than I could ever count. Enter...her best friend. I am a firm believer that memories are in your heart not the item. Honestly people, if it isn’t something you use regularly or that you have a place for, just dump it.
I have to give Kim credit, she has come so far. I now will walk into the house to find yet another box filled for the thrift store. I am so proud! I think she might even toss all the shoes that don’t fit comfortably on her shoe rack.
I must admit, I often find myself wondering why I put so much time, effort and imagination into cleaning & re-decorating Kim’s place when I could be focusing on my own. I suppose it is just more fun to decorate someone elses home.
I do tend to be a bit stingy when it comes to decorating. I don’t really let Kim help much….even if it is her house. She is usually in charge of handing me tools, keeping a full drink in my hand, and standing back to make sure everything is straight (which usually means her saying “I dunno, let me hold it & you look!”)
When I am decorating, I disappear into my own little world. Everything and everyone else seems to mute in my mind and I focus only on the room. Decorating is an art, like painting or composing. I walk into a room and feel the way it should be arranged. I can see the ideas in my mind before I pull them together. It is very comforting to watch someone enjoy living in a room you helped create.
Kim is learning to trust my taste in style. Decorating for her comes easily because we are such great friends. Amazingly, I have found that although I have decorated both her home & mine, they look almost nothing alike. The personalities of the houses are so different. Kim’s has sort of an “island cabana” feel and mine, I’ve been told, is like walking into a “Thai sanctuary”, whatever the hell that means! (Thanks Boon).
The best thing is that once my creative juices get flowing they tend to spill over into my own life. Tomorrow I will likely spend a great deal of time cleaning, purging and working in my bedroom (my latest project). Then I’ll head back over to Kim’s for her finishing touches. Another gratifying day!
We cleaned off dressers, drilled holes, hung curtains and turned that hodge podge catch all into a “Lounge of Luxury”. It is amazing the way watching a room come together can make you feel. I have re-decorated her living room and dining room. Held her hand as I urged her to let go of the overwhelming amount of Tupperware and Rubbermaid containers in her kitchen. Completely rearranged her office three or four times….I’ve lost count. We’ve re-done the upstairs hall and cleaned out numerous closets. All the while I would gently push (and sometimes shove) her to PURGE PURGE PURGE!!!
You see, Kim is a bit of a “pack-rat”. She just can’t part with anything. I do believe at one point she had seven salt and pepper shakers and three knife blocks in her kitchen. She has Girl Scout paperwork from 10 years ago and candlesticks that she has never used. There are school papers from years back, earrings the size of hubcaps, phonebooks from when we lived stateside, and more key chains than I could ever count. Enter...her best friend. I am a firm believer that memories are in your heart not the item. Honestly people, if it isn’t something you use regularly or that you have a place for, just dump it.
I have to give Kim credit, she has come so far. I now will walk into the house to find yet another box filled for the thrift store. I am so proud! I think she might even toss all the shoes that don’t fit comfortably on her shoe rack.
I must admit, I often find myself wondering why I put so much time, effort and imagination into cleaning & re-decorating Kim’s place when I could be focusing on my own. I suppose it is just more fun to decorate someone elses home.
I do tend to be a bit stingy when it comes to decorating. I don’t really let Kim help much….even if it is her house. She is usually in charge of handing me tools, keeping a full drink in my hand, and standing back to make sure everything is straight (which usually means her saying “I dunno, let me hold it & you look!”)
When I am decorating, I disappear into my own little world. Everything and everyone else seems to mute in my mind and I focus only on the room. Decorating is an art, like painting or composing. I walk into a room and feel the way it should be arranged. I can see the ideas in my mind before I pull them together. It is very comforting to watch someone enjoy living in a room you helped create.
Kim is learning to trust my taste in style. Decorating for her comes easily because we are such great friends. Amazingly, I have found that although I have decorated both her home & mine, they look almost nothing alike. The personalities of the houses are so different. Kim’s has sort of an “island cabana” feel and mine, I’ve been told, is like walking into a “Thai sanctuary”, whatever the hell that means! (Thanks Boon).
The best thing is that once my creative juices get flowing they tend to spill over into my own life. Tomorrow I will likely spend a great deal of time cleaning, purging and working in my bedroom (my latest project). Then I’ll head back over to Kim’s for her finishing touches. Another gratifying day!
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Pet Update
In Remembrance of "Harold". The very short & sweet addition to our family.
Poor, poor Marsha is in tears. After tanning this morning, K and I ran out to Foster to search for Guinea Pig bedding. Jackpot! I bought two bricks of red cedar shavings for little Harold. Upon returning home, Marsha proceeded to carefully move Harold to a deep Rubbermaid container and set it high on the table.
As Marsha was hosing out the cage, Grag heard a small squeal and saw Sumo clinching poor Harold between his teeth. That dog must have worked very hard to reach that container. Grag yelled, Marsha screamed, and they both lunged at Sumo who immediately disposed of Harold in our yard. Holt kids & neighbor kids alike came running from all directions. "MOMMA, MOMMA HELP HIM!!!!!" As I sat staring into the large purple Rubbermaid box, I watched as Harold grasped for life. One, two, three breaths...And then he went limp.
Marsha broke into tears and I held her, my heart breaking for my baby girl. Jan and her friend Jane walked Marsha slowly to her bedroom, consoling her all the while. Grag disappeared for a moment and re-emerged with his friend Jon and a plastic sack. I tired desperately to pick Harold up, but couldn't bring myself to do it. So Grag gently lifted the Guinea Pig and placed him in the Girl Scout Cookie bag. He tied the bag, took the box, poured a bit of bleach in, and called for Marsha.
There, huddled around the metal garbage can at the side of the house, were all six of my babies and two little neighbor children comforting Marsha. "He was a cute guinea Pig," Jan said. "He was nice, but smelly.”Remarked Jon. "He will be missed," said Grag as he said a little prayer. I half expected Grag to whip out his guitar and lead the tiny congregation in song. Instead, everyone walked Marsha back into the house. I looked into her red eyes so full of pain and sadness, wrapped my arms around her and gave my condolences.
She will likely never look at old Sumo the same again. I probably wouldn't either. I suppose I will go buy her a flower and a card. Such a sad sad lesson to learn.
Poor, poor Marsha is in tears. After tanning this morning, K and I ran out to Foster to search for Guinea Pig bedding. Jackpot! I bought two bricks of red cedar shavings for little Harold. Upon returning home, Marsha proceeded to carefully move Harold to a deep Rubbermaid container and set it high on the table.
As Marsha was hosing out the cage, Grag heard a small squeal and saw Sumo clinching poor Harold between his teeth. That dog must have worked very hard to reach that container. Grag yelled, Marsha screamed, and they both lunged at Sumo who immediately disposed of Harold in our yard. Holt kids & neighbor kids alike came running from all directions. "MOMMA, MOMMA HELP HIM!!!!!" As I sat staring into the large purple Rubbermaid box, I watched as Harold grasped for life. One, two, three breaths...And then he went limp.
Marsha broke into tears and I held her, my heart breaking for my baby girl. Jan and her friend Jane walked Marsha slowly to her bedroom, consoling her all the while. Grag disappeared for a moment and re-emerged with his friend Jon and a plastic sack. I tired desperately to pick Harold up, but couldn't bring myself to do it. So Grag gently lifted the Guinea Pig and placed him in the Girl Scout Cookie bag. He tied the bag, took the box, poured a bit of bleach in, and called for Marsha.
There, huddled around the metal garbage can at the side of the house, were all six of my babies and two little neighbor children comforting Marsha. "He was a cute guinea Pig," Jan said. "He was nice, but smelly.”Remarked Jon. "He will be missed," said Grag as he said a little prayer. I half expected Grag to whip out his guitar and lead the tiny congregation in song. Instead, everyone walked Marsha back into the house. I looked into her red eyes so full of pain and sadness, wrapped my arms around her and gave my condolences.
She will likely never look at old Sumo the same again. I probably wouldn't either. I suppose I will go buy her a flower and a card. Such a sad sad lesson to learn.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Pets
Oh My God, we have another pet. Marsha seems to have acquired a guinea pig, “Harold”. I’m not sure how it is we always end up with everyone else’s rejects, but we do. We’ve had quite the array of pets over the last 10 years. I do believe it all began with “Kelsey”.
Kelsey was the last of a litter of five. The boyfriend of a friend of mine was about to haul her off to the animal shelter when I “rescued” her. She was our supposed rat terrier, that turned out to be some odd mix between a terrier & hound…maybe. When we moved out of state and couldn’t find a house to rent that would allow pets, Kelsey became the loving pet of my in-laws. It was a good thing too; she is the spitting image of father-in-law…scruffy with a beard.
Let me think. In Washington, we had 3 goldfish that I killed. Grag will never let me forget that. Then, in an effort to save a full-grown German Shepard from the pound, we became a dog family. Let me warn you, I am not a fan of dogs, AT ALL. Besides the fact that I was pregnant at the time, which made me all the more pleasant to live with. I was MORE than relieved when the previous owners called from Korea and begged me to send her to them. Apparently, their kids were so terribly distraught at the loss of “Sandy” they were willing to pay any amount just to have her flown to them. K and I hauled that huge mutt to the airport and waved goodbye.
Later that year a friend of mine had a client that was the quintessential “old cat lady”. One of her many cats had a litter & thus, “Tipper” & “Shadow” came into our lives. Now cats I adore. I grew up with cats. They can take ya or leave ya…it makes no difference to them. Love you one minute & shrug you off the next. Little divas, they are perfect!
Shadow was a bit weird and ended up running off at some point. She wasn’t a big “people fan”. Tipper grew and had a litter of her own. Six to be exact. All were birthed under my bed, in the middle of the night, while Al’s parents were visiting. We decided to name each of the kittens for one of our kids. Marsha had “Angel” the runt that had to be fed through a medicine dropper. Greg’s was “Kosmo”, white with black spots. Jan had “Tigger”, I’m sure you can guess why. And Peter,“Ike” (we really just couldn’t think of any great “I” names). Bobby’s was a hoss named “Britches” who was completely white save for his black hind legs. And Cindy’s kitten was Missy. They all went to loving homes, which broke my heart because at that point I decided I wanted to be an old cat woman too. Nah, I really did want to keep Britches, but he had a bit of trouble with the litter box, so off he went. Shortly after Tipper ran off too, and we were again without any pets.
Off to Okinawa, where we have since had FIVE Betta (or Siamese fighting fish). All of my Bettas are named either “Sushi” (if purple), “Sashimi” (if red), and that one lone soldier I decided to name “N’Chips”. That makes them easy to remember and a bit of a conversation starter.
Less than a year into our tour here, I decided to give into the dog idea once again. As much as I would love to have another cat, it would mean giving up K, who is TERRIBLY allergic. So “Sumo” it is. He is a beautiful Golden Retriever, impeccably well behaved, and came to me already trained (my kind of dog). In Fact Sumo was such an amazing dog I went a bit insane and decided we need to get a puppy. “Rox” was our Canadian Newfoundland. Fluffy, stunning, and ROWDY. He ended up causing Sumo a great deal of stress (according to our vet), so Rox went to live on a farm.
Last year we had two Parakeets, “Dickey” and “Sunshine” both of which got sick and died…..odd. Now we have moved on to “Harold”. The neighbor girl said her mother was sick of him so I, like an idiot, said Marsha could have him. We’ll see how long this lasts. My kids are old enough to take care of their own pets, as long as they are caged and in their rooms! I’ll just stick with my Sushi, Sashimi & Sumo.
Kelsey was the last of a litter of five. The boyfriend of a friend of mine was about to haul her off to the animal shelter when I “rescued” her. She was our supposed rat terrier, that turned out to be some odd mix between a terrier & hound…maybe. When we moved out of state and couldn’t find a house to rent that would allow pets, Kelsey became the loving pet of my in-laws. It was a good thing too; she is the spitting image of father-in-law…scruffy with a beard.
Let me think. In Washington, we had 3 goldfish that I killed. Grag will never let me forget that. Then, in an effort to save a full-grown German Shepard from the pound, we became a dog family. Let me warn you, I am not a fan of dogs, AT ALL. Besides the fact that I was pregnant at the time, which made me all the more pleasant to live with. I was MORE than relieved when the previous owners called from Korea and begged me to send her to them. Apparently, their kids were so terribly distraught at the loss of “Sandy” they were willing to pay any amount just to have her flown to them. K and I hauled that huge mutt to the airport and waved goodbye.
Later that year a friend of mine had a client that was the quintessential “old cat lady”. One of her many cats had a litter & thus, “Tipper” & “Shadow” came into our lives. Now cats I adore. I grew up with cats. They can take ya or leave ya…it makes no difference to them. Love you one minute & shrug you off the next. Little divas, they are perfect!
Shadow was a bit weird and ended up running off at some point. She wasn’t a big “people fan”. Tipper grew and had a litter of her own. Six to be exact. All were birthed under my bed, in the middle of the night, while Al’s parents were visiting. We decided to name each of the kittens for one of our kids. Marsha had “Angel” the runt that had to be fed through a medicine dropper. Greg’s was “Kosmo”, white with black spots. Jan had “Tigger”, I’m sure you can guess why. And Peter,“Ike” (we really just couldn’t think of any great “I” names). Bobby’s was a hoss named “Britches” who was completely white save for his black hind legs. And Cindy’s kitten was Missy. They all went to loving homes, which broke my heart because at that point I decided I wanted to be an old cat woman too. Nah, I really did want to keep Britches, but he had a bit of trouble with the litter box, so off he went. Shortly after Tipper ran off too, and we were again without any pets.
Off to Okinawa, where we have since had FIVE Betta (or Siamese fighting fish). All of my Bettas are named either “Sushi” (if purple), “Sashimi” (if red), and that one lone soldier I decided to name “N’Chips”. That makes them easy to remember and a bit of a conversation starter.
Less than a year into our tour here, I decided to give into the dog idea once again. As much as I would love to have another cat, it would mean giving up K, who is TERRIBLY allergic. So “Sumo” it is. He is a beautiful Golden Retriever, impeccably well behaved, and came to me already trained (my kind of dog). In Fact Sumo was such an amazing dog I went a bit insane and decided we need to get a puppy. “Rox” was our Canadian Newfoundland. Fluffy, stunning, and ROWDY. He ended up causing Sumo a great deal of stress (according to our vet), so Rox went to live on a farm.
Last year we had two Parakeets, “Dickey” and “Sunshine” both of which got sick and died…..odd. Now we have moved on to “Harold”. The neighbor girl said her mother was sick of him so I, like an idiot, said Marsha could have him. We’ll see how long this lasts. My kids are old enough to take care of their own pets, as long as they are caged and in their rooms! I’ll just stick with my Sushi, Sashimi & Sumo.
It had to have been about a month ago that I opened my mailbox and began shuffling through the envelopes. Bill, bill, junk, card, junk, junk...then my heart stopped momentarily as my eyes caught a glimpse of the return address in the corner of one particular envelope. El Dorado High school Class of 1995. Holy crap, my 10 year reunion. I hopped in my van and opened the letter, still feeling slightly light headed and short of breath. A quick read-thru informed me that our reunion would be at the end of September. Hmmmm...How am I going to pull this off? The kids will be only a few weeks into the school year, I'll have to find someone to keep my very large Golden Retriever, Al will likely be gone...again, and I get to fly all the way back to Kansas with six kids to attend a reunion by myself. WOO HOO!! Good Times!!
Oh come on! Let's be honest! A huge part of me is excited at the prospect of my reunion. I grew up with these people. I want to see Jas, Man, Sar, Jos, Mik, Tor, Mat, and Am. From the 1st grade these were the kids I stood next to in the lunch line, played 4-square with at recess, passed notes to during class, sang with in Encore, acted with in Drama, laughed with in between classes and celebrated with at graduation. These, and 200 more, are the names and faces that grace the pages of my yearbook. These were my friends.
So September it is. I'm not overly obsessed with the things I thought I would be. My weight, my job, my hair. I've no old flames to impress. I was already married! I am who I am and I'm happy with myself. Take me or leave me, I couldn't care less. Besides, those things aren't going to keep me from having a good time! For me, this reunion has nothing to do with comparing myself to the people I went to school with. I dig my life. I just want to see some old friends, catch up on the last ten years and hang out!
Hmmmm, according to this letter my reunion weekend is going to be full of tailgate parties, bonfires, football games, golf (blah), a tour of my old high school, and dinners with old pals. Not bad. Some of these activities will kill two birds with one stone as far as I am concerned. I 'll reminisce with old friends while watching my cousin play football, and maybe during that tour of the school I'll run into my little sister! (She'll be a senior). Lucky for me my entire family (and my husbands) still live in Kansas, so I'll get to visit the family. I'll even finally get the chance to meet my little brother G! (He'll turn one this June).
My one problem? With this letter came a reply card. No big deal, just some simple questions. Name: Ran D. Spouses Name: Al. Names of Children...yeah I turn to the back for that one! Where Do You Live: Too far. Occupation: Hmmmmm, Party liaison? No, no. Domestic Goddess? Defiantly not. Professional shopper? Possibly...nah...leave it blank. Favorite High school memory: ~favorite high school memory~ Alright, having a bit of trouble with this one. Do I have high school memories? Yeah I suppose. Let's see. Getting pregnant (twice), getting married (just once, hehe), missing 3 months of my senior year to hang out with Al in Colorado. Perhaps not what the reunion committee is looking for. I guess compared to the experiences I have had since, all of my high school memories sound a little corny. Singing, acting, laughing, slacking off. I can't even really pinpoint one memory. My mind is too full of them. (I'm a cancer).
So here I sit. 4 days before this little card is supposed to be in the hands of the reunion committee, and I can't think of one silly memory. Isn't it weird? Those were supposed to be the best times of my life, the best. Honestly, the last 10 years have been pretty great. The last 3 have been a blast. I've met some fabulous people, visited some amazing places and learned a lot about myself. Yeah, high school was fun, but it was nothing compared to my life since!
Oh come on! Let's be honest! A huge part of me is excited at the prospect of my reunion. I grew up with these people. I want to see Jas, Man, Sar, Jos, Mik, Tor, Mat, and Am. From the 1st grade these were the kids I stood next to in the lunch line, played 4-square with at recess, passed notes to during class, sang with in Encore, acted with in Drama, laughed with in between classes and celebrated with at graduation. These, and 200 more, are the names and faces that grace the pages of my yearbook. These were my friends.
So September it is. I'm not overly obsessed with the things I thought I would be. My weight, my job, my hair. I've no old flames to impress. I was already married! I am who I am and I'm happy with myself. Take me or leave me, I couldn't care less. Besides, those things aren't going to keep me from having a good time! For me, this reunion has nothing to do with comparing myself to the people I went to school with. I dig my life. I just want to see some old friends, catch up on the last ten years and hang out!
Hmmmm, according to this letter my reunion weekend is going to be full of tailgate parties, bonfires, football games, golf (blah), a tour of my old high school, and dinners with old pals. Not bad. Some of these activities will kill two birds with one stone as far as I am concerned. I 'll reminisce with old friends while watching my cousin play football, and maybe during that tour of the school I'll run into my little sister! (She'll be a senior). Lucky for me my entire family (and my husbands) still live in Kansas, so I'll get to visit the family. I'll even finally get the chance to meet my little brother G! (He'll turn one this June).
My one problem? With this letter came a reply card. No big deal, just some simple questions. Name: Ran D. Spouses Name: Al. Names of Children...yeah I turn to the back for that one! Where Do You Live: Too far. Occupation: Hmmmmm, Party liaison? No, no. Domestic Goddess? Defiantly not. Professional shopper? Possibly...nah...leave it blank. Favorite High school memory: ~favorite high school memory~ Alright, having a bit of trouble with this one. Do I have high school memories? Yeah I suppose. Let's see. Getting pregnant (twice), getting married (just once, hehe), missing 3 months of my senior year to hang out with Al in Colorado. Perhaps not what the reunion committee is looking for. I guess compared to the experiences I have had since, all of my high school memories sound a little corny. Singing, acting, laughing, slacking off. I can't even really pinpoint one memory. My mind is too full of them. (I'm a cancer).
So here I sit. 4 days before this little card is supposed to be in the hands of the reunion committee, and I can't think of one silly memory. Isn't it weird? Those were supposed to be the best times of my life, the best. Honestly, the last 10 years have been pretty great. The last 3 have been a blast. I've met some fabulous people, visited some amazing places and learned a lot about myself. Yeah, high school was fun, but it was nothing compared to my life since!
Monday, May 09, 2005
what age?
32
Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.
13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.
20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.
30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!
40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.
AAAHHH!!!!
Okay, four people have now asked me to go watch the re-make of the movie Amityville Horror. I have decided it necessary to Blog this little piece of my life so the ones I love so dearly will understand the FEAR THAT GRIPS MY VERY SOUL!!!!
When I was very little my family lived in a beautiful two story house that was ancient!! I don't ever recall being afraid of that house, of the dark, or anything much for that matter. I do remember the night all that changed. I must have been between the ages of three and five. I remember waking in the middle of the night. The house was dark and completely quiet. I don't recall if I made a habit of watching television in the middle of the night, but that night I did. I walked out of my room & down the winding staircase running my hand along the "fuzzy" wallpaper. I walked into the living room, switched on the t.v. and plopped down directly in front of it. (OOOOHHHHH, I have chills at the memory). I distinctly recall a man and a woman walking down a hallway, then the woman walked around a corner into a large room. She looked up at a gigantic brick wall and before my very eyes that wall began BREATHING!! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!! She screamed, I screamed. I smacked the off button as hard as I could, grabbed my babydoll and sprinted up those stairs as quickly as my little legs would carry me. I never knew the name of that movie and never bothered to find out.
About 6 or 7 years ago, Al and I were discussing my insane fear of scary movies when I decided to recount this memory for him. All the sudden his eyes got HUGE and he stared laughing uncontrollably. "Ran D," he said "that was a scene from Amityville Horror, that movie scared the hell out of me!!" After all these years, the movie that had scarred my very life had a name.
I have NEVER been capable of watching horror flicks. I tried Nightmare on Elmstreet in the 5th grade. Nope, I had my own nightmares for 3 weeks. Early in highschool I watched Candyman with Al. Oh heck no, I couldn't even look in a mirror without the someone in the room with me!! A few years back Al rented Ghostship. No problem, Al was home so I should be able to handle this, right? Nope. Again, nightmare after nightmare. Heck, even the bloody eye scene in One Hour Photo scared me. Then a couple of months ago K convinced me to watch The Grudge with her. Holy God, what was I thinking? I spent almost the entire movie cleaning my kitchen & humming to myself. Ridiculous!
K's advice? Sit through Amityville one time. Try to conquer your fear. You know what? I really don't care if her kids think I am silly for being afraid. It really doesn't bother me that I am raising 6 kids who are just as incapable of watching frightening movies as I am. It wouldn't faze me one bit if I missed out on every movie everyone ever wanted to take me to. I simply DO NOT enjoy being afraid. So, to all those I know & love that enjoy these movies, take a hint: STOP ASKING ME, IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN!!! Love to you all forever! (wink) ~Ran D.
** For the record, I can barely read back over this Blog entry the memories still frighten me so. Pathetic!! **
When I was very little my family lived in a beautiful two story house that was ancient!! I don't ever recall being afraid of that house, of the dark, or anything much for that matter. I do remember the night all that changed. I must have been between the ages of three and five. I remember waking in the middle of the night. The house was dark and completely quiet. I don't recall if I made a habit of watching television in the middle of the night, but that night I did. I walked out of my room & down the winding staircase running my hand along the "fuzzy" wallpaper. I walked into the living room, switched on the t.v. and plopped down directly in front of it. (OOOOHHHHH, I have chills at the memory). I distinctly recall a man and a woman walking down a hallway, then the woman walked around a corner into a large room. She looked up at a gigantic brick wall and before my very eyes that wall began BREATHING!! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!! She screamed, I screamed. I smacked the off button as hard as I could, grabbed my babydoll and sprinted up those stairs as quickly as my little legs would carry me. I never knew the name of that movie and never bothered to find out.
About 6 or 7 years ago, Al and I were discussing my insane fear of scary movies when I decided to recount this memory for him. All the sudden his eyes got HUGE and he stared laughing uncontrollably. "Ran D," he said "that was a scene from Amityville Horror, that movie scared the hell out of me!!" After all these years, the movie that had scarred my very life had a name.
I have NEVER been capable of watching horror flicks. I tried Nightmare on Elmstreet in the 5th grade. Nope, I had my own nightmares for 3 weeks. Early in highschool I watched Candyman with Al. Oh heck no, I couldn't even look in a mirror without the someone in the room with me!! A few years back Al rented Ghostship. No problem, Al was home so I should be able to handle this, right? Nope. Again, nightmare after nightmare. Heck, even the bloody eye scene in One Hour Photo scared me. Then a couple of months ago K convinced me to watch The Grudge with her. Holy God, what was I thinking? I spent almost the entire movie cleaning my kitchen & humming to myself. Ridiculous!
K's advice? Sit through Amityville one time. Try to conquer your fear. You know what? I really don't care if her kids think I am silly for being afraid. It really doesn't bother me that I am raising 6 kids who are just as incapable of watching frightening movies as I am. It wouldn't faze me one bit if I missed out on every movie everyone ever wanted to take me to. I simply DO NOT enjoy being afraid. So, to all those I know & love that enjoy these movies, take a hint: STOP ASKING ME, IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN!!! Love to you all forever! (wink) ~Ran D.
** For the record, I can barely read back over this Blog entry the memories still frighten me so. Pathetic!! **
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Summer
Summer. I can smell it in the air. It is mid-May and already my windows are closed tight to keep the humidity out and the air conditioning in. I love summer. As it approaches I watch the anticipation in my children grow. School is winding down, plans are being made and all the world is fresh and new.
Summer reminds me of awaking on Saturday morning to find all the windows open and REO Speedwagon blasting from the speakers. The summer breeze mixed with the faint scent of bleach and my mom standing on the couch cleaning the big mirror that hung on the wall. The sound of birds singing, children playing at the park across the street and the washer and dryer in the back room.
Summer meant evenings watching my mom and uncles at softball games. Playing with friends on one of the unused fields or exploring the train tracks on the hill behind the ballpark. It was sunflower seeds & licorice, the scream of adoring fans from the stands (us kids), and my mom in short shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders (she is so beautiful!). After the game, we would load up and drive across the street to Dairy Queen where we would join what seemed like the entire community for a chocolate dipped cone.
Summer was finishing our chores before mom came home for lunch. Then we would be free to swim the rest of the afternoon away at the municipal pool. It meant splashing and laughing. High dives and Fun Dip candy. A few blocks walk to my cousin Shera's house where we would dance to U2 until we collapsed on the family room sofas.
It was amazing light displays over the Kansas prairie from electrical storms in the distance. Watching funnel clouds form over the lake and the mixture of excitement and fear as the air grows thick and still. There is nothing like standing in awe of the power and beauty of a tornado. Right before you sprint to the basement, that is! HA!
Summer is glorious! Fireflies, friends, sunburns, campouts, roller skates, cool breezes, porch swings, sprinklers, and freedom. I love summer.
Summer reminds me of awaking on Saturday morning to find all the windows open and REO Speedwagon blasting from the speakers. The summer breeze mixed with the faint scent of bleach and my mom standing on the couch cleaning the big mirror that hung on the wall. The sound of birds singing, children playing at the park across the street and the washer and dryer in the back room.
Summer meant evenings watching my mom and uncles at softball games. Playing with friends on one of the unused fields or exploring the train tracks on the hill behind the ballpark. It was sunflower seeds & licorice, the scream of adoring fans from the stands (us kids), and my mom in short shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders (she is so beautiful!). After the game, we would load up and drive across the street to Dairy Queen where we would join what seemed like the entire community for a chocolate dipped cone.
Summer was finishing our chores before mom came home for lunch. Then we would be free to swim the rest of the afternoon away at the municipal pool. It meant splashing and laughing. High dives and Fun Dip candy. A few blocks walk to my cousin Shera's house where we would dance to U2 until we collapsed on the family room sofas.
It was amazing light displays over the Kansas prairie from electrical storms in the distance. Watching funnel clouds form over the lake and the mixture of excitement and fear as the air grows thick and still. There is nothing like standing in awe of the power and beauty of a tornado. Right before you sprint to the basement, that is! HA!
Summer is glorious! Fireflies, friends, sunburns, campouts, roller skates, cool breezes, porch swings, sprinklers, and freedom. I love summer.
Lights, Camera, ACTION!!
Here they come, giddy & smiling from ear to ear. “EVERYONE SIT DOWN!!! WE HAVE SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU!!!” I just know that I am being re-paid seven fold for the endless plays and musicals my family had to endure as I was growing up. There must be a drama gene in all little girls that explodes around the age of 9 or 10. Once again, my friend K & I sit and watch as our five daughters act out the numerous plays and dances they have so painstakingly rehearsed in their rooms. We obviously have an invisible stage located directly in front of our television. No harm in that, right? Simply forgo your choice of TV show for the evening & retreat to another room. Oh no, this stage can and will be transferred to ANY occupied room of the house, including the kitchen or bedroom. Don’t try to run folks, they WILL hunt you down & find you!
I do believe the girls last few performances have consisted of the same song & dance, only upgraded and improved. They dance & we laugh. I’m not quite sure if the laughter is from actual amusement or the delirium that is slowly taking over, but we laugh nonetheless. “PIZZA PIZZA! Hi, my name is "Marsha". PIZZA PIZZA! I do not mess around. PIZZA PIZZA! We turn around, touch the ground, get back up & pop it down.” This song continues on through all 5 girls, oldest to youngest, followed by "Jan’s" commentary….”Well, we used to say boogie down, but we changed it to pop it down because we like the dance move better.” Then Marsha, “No, no girls…that isn’t the way we practiced it, turn LEFT not RIGHT. Let’s start over!” AH!!! So close!
As K & I sit slouched on the couch, dazed by the third showing of the evening, we discuss our eternal apology to our families for our own invisible stages. 17 years later I can still remember every word to “Let’s go camping”, the rap my cousin Mike & I made up while on vacation in Yellowstone one year. Oh, we were so talented. The song was “sang” to the tune of Ice Ice Baby. (Yes, you read that correctly). “Alright, STOP, pack your clothes, throw in some jeans, & some doe. Drive for a very long time. Keep going, keep on going. After 3 days you’ll be there. You might even see a couple of bears. So Let’s go camping….Da na na na na na na. Let’s go camping....Da na na na na na na. At YELLOWSTONE, yeah. Oh man, were we COOL! I am 27 years old, singing a made up song, bobbing my head & doing all the hand actions…..Greeeaaat.
There was the brilliant “This is your Life” play for our grandpa’s birthday that conisted of 5 cousins and a pair of grandad's boots. And of course, my directorial debut, “The Birth of Christ”, preformed one Christmas in Aunt L’s family room. This one I remember quite clearly as I am the oldest grandchild, thus the bossiest. I can’t recall much about the play itself, just that I spent the majority of the time adjusting lines & stage direction. And that I had the distinct impression that this one dragged on FAR too long!
Those days hold fond (and often embarrassing) memories for me. I am sure they opened the door to my very wild & vivid imagination. I enjoyed acting well into my teen years, although those closest to me might say I still have a flare for drama (wink).
As I watch my little girls sing, dance and act out the SAME play for the umpteenth time, I keep in mind that this is what bonds us. Laughter. Sharing. Love. Creativity. These are sweet memories in the making, and I am going to cherish them. “PIZZA PIZZA…..”
I do believe the girls last few performances have consisted of the same song & dance, only upgraded and improved. They dance & we laugh. I’m not quite sure if the laughter is from actual amusement or the delirium that is slowly taking over, but we laugh nonetheless. “PIZZA PIZZA! Hi, my name is "Marsha". PIZZA PIZZA! I do not mess around. PIZZA PIZZA! We turn around, touch the ground, get back up & pop it down.” This song continues on through all 5 girls, oldest to youngest, followed by "Jan’s" commentary….”Well, we used to say boogie down, but we changed it to pop it down because we like the dance move better.” Then Marsha, “No, no girls…that isn’t the way we practiced it, turn LEFT not RIGHT. Let’s start over!” AH!!! So close!
As K & I sit slouched on the couch, dazed by the third showing of the evening, we discuss our eternal apology to our families for our own invisible stages. 17 years later I can still remember every word to “Let’s go camping”, the rap my cousin Mike & I made up while on vacation in Yellowstone one year. Oh, we were so talented. The song was “sang” to the tune of Ice Ice Baby. (Yes, you read that correctly). “Alright, STOP, pack your clothes, throw in some jeans, & some doe. Drive for a very long time. Keep going, keep on going. After 3 days you’ll be there. You might even see a couple of bears. So Let’s go camping….Da na na na na na na. Let’s go camping....Da na na na na na na. At YELLOWSTONE, yeah. Oh man, were we COOL! I am 27 years old, singing a made up song, bobbing my head & doing all the hand actions…..Greeeaaat.
There was the brilliant “This is your Life” play for our grandpa’s birthday that conisted of 5 cousins and a pair of grandad's boots. And of course, my directorial debut, “The Birth of Christ”, preformed one Christmas in Aunt L’s family room. This one I remember quite clearly as I am the oldest grandchild, thus the bossiest. I can’t recall much about the play itself, just that I spent the majority of the time adjusting lines & stage direction. And that I had the distinct impression that this one dragged on FAR too long!
Those days hold fond (and often embarrassing) memories for me. I am sure they opened the door to my very wild & vivid imagination. I enjoyed acting well into my teen years, although those closest to me might say I still have a flare for drama (wink).
As I watch my little girls sing, dance and act out the SAME play for the umpteenth time, I keep in mind that this is what bonds us. Laughter. Sharing. Love. Creativity. These are sweet memories in the making, and I am going to cherish them. “PIZZA PIZZA…..”
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Laundry
AH, another day another dollar....unless you are a mom, then the saying should go: another day another PILE OF LAUNDRY!! Honestly, when does this end?
I'm not sure why I have such trouble keeping up with the laundry. It shouldn't be that difficult, but it is. I usually keep the laundry room door tightly closed for fear someone might catch a glimpse of Mt. Washme (as my husband so lovingly refers to it). A dear friend of mine once made the terrible mistake of being nosy and opening my laundry room door. Before I could tackle him to the floor & shield his eyes from the horror that lay within, he laughed "What happened? Did a laundry bomb explode in here?" Good grief people, didn't your mothers ever teach you to leave closed doors CLOSED!?!?!?!
My mom was a single mother, who worked full time and went to school at night. Such an amazing woman. If ever there was a reason to have a laundry pile, she had one. But do you think we had one stitch of dirty laundry in that house? Heck no. That woman mastered the art of laundry scheduling. Obviously I did not get my "laundry gene" (or lack thereof) from her. What excuse do I have exactly? No, not the "six kids" one, truth be told I could be washing or drying a load right now, but instead I stare at the pile next to me and write about it.....THE SHAME!!
My friends have tried on numerous occasions to school me in the art of laundry procedure. "Don't keep laundry baskets in every bedroom, they will only fill up and then you'll have 6 baskets full before you do more." or "Have your kids put their dirty clothes outside their door every morning." and my personal favorite "Make your kids do their own laundry." All of this insight has been so very helpful, however I still seem to struggle. My husband's advice? Let's get a mama-san to do all the laundry. HEAVENS NO! I can't stand the thought of someone else trying to figure out who wears size 7 flare bottoms & who owns the blue Orange County Chopper shirt. OR perhaps I simple want it done my way .
Shockingly enough I am very picky about the way my laundry is done. Everything must be separated; darks, lights, towels, jeans, whites. And if the pile is too large, then by color; black, red, blue, green, etc. I start the washer first; cold water-permanent press, warm water-jeans and towels, hot water-whites. I then add LIQUID detergent and if I am washing jeans Clorox OXY Clean, or if whites then 1 1/4 cup bleach. I fill the Downey ball then add the clothes. When they are moved to the dryer I then must add a Bounce dryer sheet, two for jeans (no static cling in my house). If I don't get to the dryer right as it buzzes I must run the dryer again. This is a little habit I picked up from my mother. Clothes MUST come out of the dryer warm & wrinkle free. If I happen to notice a stain or rip an any of the clothing it is thrown directly into the garbage. I haven't time for mending and re-washing. From the dryer the clothes are placed directly onto hangers. All the clothes in my house belong on hangers save for jeans, socks, underwear & linens, these items are folded.
Folding. This is another disorder completely. I seem to suffer from some freakish form of perfectionism where if the towels aren't folded half-half-third I hyperventilate (thanks mom)! Please do not mistake this for OCD. No, those who suffer from OCD have stunningly beautiful and clean houses. In my little world if there isn't time to do the job correctly and completely the first time, then it is better left undone altogether. This means things do indeed get left unfinished in my house (like laundry). Yes I know...psycho....but there is no need to fear, I don't bite.
About once a year Mt. Washme threatens to erupt and I must resort to desperate measures. The laundry mat. What a nightmare. If ever you walk into a laundry mat that looks completely empty yet 20 of the 22 washers are occupied, chances are you will find me sitting atop one of the tables, listening to my I-POD or reading a book. Good Times! I can't stand the laundry mat. The clothes never seem to come out of the washer as clean, or out of the dryer as fresh. But when it is done, it is done. At least for a couple of days!
Currently my laundry room door stands wide open. Clean clothes overflow from the six baskets sitting on my deep freeze. Every available hook and doorknob is straining under the weight of hangers. And there is a fresh basket of socks smelling of bleach. I love when my laundry room is clean. But I won't get too excited, the kids will be in to clean their rooms in 45 minutes, which means my seemingly clean laundry room will once again be occupied by Mt. Washme. Oh yes, and there is this one pile currently staring up from my bedroom floor. Heaven help us all!
I'm not sure why I have such trouble keeping up with the laundry. It shouldn't be that difficult, but it is. I usually keep the laundry room door tightly closed for fear someone might catch a glimpse of Mt. Washme (as my husband so lovingly refers to it). A dear friend of mine once made the terrible mistake of being nosy and opening my laundry room door. Before I could tackle him to the floor & shield his eyes from the horror that lay within, he laughed "What happened? Did a laundry bomb explode in here?" Good grief people, didn't your mothers ever teach you to leave closed doors CLOSED!?!?!?!
My mom was a single mother, who worked full time and went to school at night. Such an amazing woman. If ever there was a reason to have a laundry pile, she had one. But do you think we had one stitch of dirty laundry in that house? Heck no. That woman mastered the art of laundry scheduling. Obviously I did not get my "laundry gene" (or lack thereof) from her. What excuse do I have exactly? No, not the "six kids" one, truth be told I could be washing or drying a load right now, but instead I stare at the pile next to me and write about it.....THE SHAME!!
My friends have tried on numerous occasions to school me in the art of laundry procedure. "Don't keep laundry baskets in every bedroom, they will only fill up and then you'll have 6 baskets full before you do more." or "Have your kids put their dirty clothes outside their door every morning." and my personal favorite "Make your kids do their own laundry." All of this insight has been so very helpful, however I still seem to struggle. My husband's advice? Let's get a mama-san to do all the laundry. HEAVENS NO! I can't stand the thought of someone else trying to figure out who wears size 7 flare bottoms & who owns the blue Orange County Chopper shirt. OR perhaps I simple want it done my way .
Shockingly enough I am very picky about the way my laundry is done. Everything must be separated; darks, lights, towels, jeans, whites. And if the pile is too large, then by color; black, red, blue, green, etc. I start the washer first; cold water-permanent press, warm water-jeans and towels, hot water-whites. I then add LIQUID detergent and if I am washing jeans Clorox OXY Clean, or if whites then 1 1/4 cup bleach. I fill the Downey ball then add the clothes. When they are moved to the dryer I then must add a Bounce dryer sheet, two for jeans (no static cling in my house). If I don't get to the dryer right as it buzzes I must run the dryer again. This is a little habit I picked up from my mother. Clothes MUST come out of the dryer warm & wrinkle free. If I happen to notice a stain or rip an any of the clothing it is thrown directly into the garbage. I haven't time for mending and re-washing. From the dryer the clothes are placed directly onto hangers. All the clothes in my house belong on hangers save for jeans, socks, underwear & linens, these items are folded.
Folding. This is another disorder completely. I seem to suffer from some freakish form of perfectionism where if the towels aren't folded half-half-third I hyperventilate (thanks mom)! Please do not mistake this for OCD. No, those who suffer from OCD have stunningly beautiful and clean houses. In my little world if there isn't time to do the job correctly and completely the first time, then it is better left undone altogether. This means things do indeed get left unfinished in my house (like laundry). Yes I know...psycho....but there is no need to fear, I don't bite.
About once a year Mt. Washme threatens to erupt and I must resort to desperate measures. The laundry mat. What a nightmare. If ever you walk into a laundry mat that looks completely empty yet 20 of the 22 washers are occupied, chances are you will find me sitting atop one of the tables, listening to my I-POD or reading a book. Good Times! I can't stand the laundry mat. The clothes never seem to come out of the washer as clean, or out of the dryer as fresh. But when it is done, it is done. At least for a couple of days!
Currently my laundry room door stands wide open. Clean clothes overflow from the six baskets sitting on my deep freeze. Every available hook and doorknob is straining under the weight of hangers. And there is a fresh basket of socks smelling of bleach. I love when my laundry room is clean. But I won't get too excited, the kids will be in to clean their rooms in 45 minutes, which means my seemingly clean laundry room will once again be occupied by Mt. Washme. Oh yes, and there is this one pile currently staring up from my bedroom floor. Heaven help us all!
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