the pieces of my life

I’m ashamed. I’ve done something that’s just so… wrong. I feel so dirty. Which will sound a little ironic when I tell you the horrific thing I’ve done.

I’ve– I’ve–

God, it’s hard to spit this out. But I must. Deep breath. Okay. Here it is. I’ve done the laundry. And not just once. I did it three times. I know! It’s horrible! Please don’t tell Adam about this. I don’t want him to know that I’ve located the machines and figured out what the “Oxi-timed” cycle is. (I’m sure he’ll never see this, here on my very public blog; I’m guessing his eyes will just skate right over this, in shocked disbelief.)

I can explain. Seriously. I had good reason. Not that there is ever a good reason to do laundry. But we had a Hanukkah party on Sunday.* A rousing party with bourbon and latkes and sufganiyot** and a lively time was had by all.

The next morning I was not in the mood for much. Except to try and count exactly how many whiskey sours I had consumed while flipping latkes. And how many glasses of champagne I had at the post-party party (yes, people, I am cool enough to have a post-party party. Deal.) The last thing I wanted to do was household chores of any kind, which included making food for my children:

Me to Doodles: Do you want to buy lunch today?
Doodles: Nah. Nothing looks good on the school menu.
Me: I’ll pay you a dollar to buy lunch today.
Doodles: Five dollars.
Me: Forget it. I’ll make you lunch.
Doodles: Two dollars.
Me: You’re on. Go tell your father to pay you two dollars.

Yet, soon the house was clear and all that was left was an oil-laden stack of linens and my clothes from the night before. The stank of oil was harshing my hangover, so I reluctantly made my way down and surreptitiously stuck the items in the wash. I had them out and put away before Adam ever knew about it.

But then that morning crises struck. It was pajama day in Pie’s class. She wanted to wear her Hanukkah pajamas. But I wouldn’t let her sleep in her pajamas if she was playing in them outside all day. But Hanukkah was starting Tuesday night. So? Adam can wash the pajamas. But Adam had the NERVE to decide to go to New York to be part of the team that rings the opening bell of NASDAQ the day his company spun off into it’s own company.

Which left me alone. With dirty clothes. And a girl with a sad face who wanted to wear Hanukkah pajamas.

And so the descent into the laundry room occurred again.

A side note that is really not a side note: I have two pairs of jeans. Really I have four pairs of jeans, but two are ones that a friend pressured me to buy because they actually look good on me, but frankly, they’re too expensive for me to wear on a daily basis so they sit in my drawer unless I’m going to New York, at which time they come out and say, “Hi!” And of the two I have left, one is my favorite pair of Gap Boyfriend jeans that they’ve discontinued and which also have a lovely hole in them. The other pair is a pair of Target jeans, which suit my meeds. But with just two pairs of jeans in play, I’m constantly begging the laundry guy to do laundry so I can have clean jeans. Adam has yet to understand that jeans on the floor means, “I will wear these again if I have to, but if there’s a load of laundry being done, these jeans would be much happier going for a spin.” And so my jeans can go weeks without ever experiencing the soothing relaxation of a shower of water and soap.

This week I broke down and bought new jeans. Four pairs. From Target. Actually online Target, because even I am not crazy enough to weather Target the week before Christmas, no matter how much of my thigh is exposed in my hole-y jeans. They didn’t have my “short” length, but the regular length is serviceable. But new jeans require a washing. Because I hate that indigo-dye look I get when I don’t wash new jeans. So the new jeans went into the wash. By my hand. Although in all fairness to me, they never made it to the dryer and are sitting there, sad in the washer, shivering in cold, waiting for an unsuspecting Adam to find them and eventually move the near-dry pants to the dryer. Because, although I bought four pairs of jeans in order to ensure that laundry is near never needed, I can’t bring myself to complete the process for a third time. Because the third time’s the charm. And I’m so not charmed.

You’re pretty sorry you stopped by my blog today, aren’t you? Well, they can’t all be days of wine and roses. Or even bourbon and sufganiyot. Sometimes there’s laundry involved. It’s an ugly world out there, people.

*Yes, I know that Hanukkah hadn’t started on Sunday. But we always hold our party on the Sunday of Hanukkah only this time there was some conflict. Something else happened on the Sunday of Hanukkah this year. A big guy in a red suit? The birth of the Christian Messiah? Not sure, but something took precedence over our party.

**Traditional Israeli fried donut served on Hanukkah. This is not your Dunkin Donuts donut but a completely different animal. Kosher animal, of course. Minus the animal part.

This morning, as I set out on my run, it was a perfect Miami Beach winter morning. It was 57 degrees. The sky was tinged with red and orange as the sun rose. A nice breeze blew in from the sea. It was so heavenly I decided to turn my three-mile run into a five-mile run. The only problem with this lovely, perfect morning is that it’s not January in Miami Beach. It’s November, outside of Boston. Where is my fall weather! I’m longing for all my indoor projects–putting together photo albums, baking bread, making marshmallows for hot chocolate–but the weather stubbornly refuses to cooperate!

Despite the weather, but probably owing to the run, I’m actually feeling pretty good. I’m worried if I’m not cranky that you’ll think that aliens have absconded with me and replaced me with a pod person. I’m tempted to throw in a “bite me” here, just so you’ll know it’s me, but really, I have nothing to be bitten about. In fact, despite the weather that simply begs for me to go outside, I’ve been in a cleaning-house mode, which puts me into a downright cheerful mood.

I’ve been on a HUGE purge kick. I love purging! There’s something so freeing about realizing, “I really don’t think we are the kind of household that needs not one, but two potato mashers” or “Considering that it’s been almost two years since we’ve owned a VCR, I think these tapes can go,” and then actually removing said items from the house. Goodwill. Freecycle. These are my best friends. (Ooh, I have a good Freecycle find, but I’m going to save that for another post.)

I have a DVD collection to end all DVD collections. Okay, not completely true–I know there are more fanatical film folks out there with larger collections. However, as I spent three and a half years on the DVD and Video editorial team of Amazon, you can know that I amassed a fairly decent sized collection, as you can see:

As I’ve mentioned before, about 75% of these are still in wrappers, but one of these days, we’ll be desperate for a movie and happy we have them! True, I thought of this before Netflix streaming and Roku, but I still hold fast to that thought!

It’s a strange assortment. Adam used to bemoan the fact that we had Lethal Weapon 4, but not 1, 2, or 3. It was all a matter of what I was sent from the studios. But we’d also get some oddball ones that I’ve held onto because I didn’t know what else to do with them. For instance, I actually own a copy of S*x Tips with Heidi Fleiss and Victoria Sellers. Why? Who knows? And I’ve had one DVD (still sealed, I might add) that was given to me by a coworker when I got engaged, I believe. I’ve held onto primarily because, to whom do you give something like this (posted in thumbnail size for those of you who are delicate):

I’m guessing Goodwill doesn’t want it. I certainly don’t want the kind of person who would pick this up on Freecycle anywhere near my house. So despite all my “eco” talk, I threw this in the trash. Sorry, folks.

In my cleanse, I Freecycled old speakers, a monitor that was used two computers ago, a bed tray that we’ve used exactly once. I did hold some questionable things. Anyone want to guess why the heck I have four packages of doilies:

And, yet, I couldn’t part with them. How could I? I mean, I could have a dire need for a doily any day now.

To reward myself for all my lovely purging, I took a trip to the Container Store today, and bought all sorts of wonderful things to use to contain all my nice, new purged belongings. Nothing makes me happier than an organized space (okay, maybe my children and husband, or the hope of getting my novel published, or an evening free for reality TV, but work with me, folks).

Now, if you’ll excuse, I’m going to go stare at my shelves. They’re just so lovely!

I can’t do another snow day. It’s not that the kids are making me crazy (they do that even when it’s not a snow day). It’s not that there’s snow to be shoveled (Adam actually took care of all the snow himself this morning, with the help of a neighbor’s snowblower). It’s not that I’m tired of the snow (I’m looking forward to some good snowshoeing this weekend).

It’s that all this snow is making me fat. Because there’s nothing like a snow day to make you want to cozy up to a warm oven or stove. So now that we’re on our fourth snow day in three weeks (three weeks that also included one early release day and one MLK day), I’m desperate to cook but my waistline can’t take any more. What have I made in those three days? Well:

Bread. Oh so much bread! Both “artisan” and hallah, multiple loaves of each
Cherry chocolate-chip cookies
Whoopie pies (when I asked Doodles if they were as good as the ones from Wilson Farm, he looked at it, looked at me, and looked at it again and said, “This isn’t from Wilson Farm???” That’s success!)
Candied orange peel
Chocolate-covered candied orange peel
Marshmallows. Lots and lots and lots of marshmallows
Onion Soup
Peanut-butter chocolate-chip cookies

We need sunshine. Fast. Before I start baking/cooking again!

I’m blogging on Adam’s computer. His work computer. Apparently. Although I don’t get it. I called him because I couldn’t figure out how to turn the computer on (yes, I know. I won’t even go there). I was hitting some button but nothing was happening (turns out it was the WiFi switch. Not the power button):
Me: How do you turn on your computer?
Adam: My computer?
Me: Yeah.
Adam: What about your computer?
Me: I’ve given up on my computer. It’s slow and the WiFi goes in an out [and let’s be frank–it’s upstairs and I’m downstairs].
Adam: Okay, but it’s my work computer.
Me: Your work computer?
Adam: Yeah.
Me: How is that possible?
Adam: What do you mean?
Me: I mean I’m here. Your computer is here. You’re at work. You have a computer there. How is this your work computer?
Adam: It’s my work computer. For home. My home work computer.

Uh… okay. Whatever. I don’t buy it, but if that’s how he wants to play it, let me just say that this post is being brought to you by TripAdvisor.

I’m relaxing at the moment as my kids–somehow–play quietly on their own. We’re on day 16 (okay, that’s a guess, I lost count) of bad weather. I know the quiet won’t last long, but for the second is good. I just had a long protracted “explaining” session with the boy (don’t know how else to refer to it). It was one of those really roundabout things, too.

For my birthday last week, I received a bounty of goodness, including Carrie Fisher’s book Wishful Drinking, which I’m thoroughly enjoying. Reading it, though, made me realize that my music collection is lacking in Paul Simon’s earlier music, so I downloaded The Essential Paul Simon, which I’m currently listening, too. (Ah, “Kodachrome!” Will the song go the way of the film? First Polaroid, now Kodachrome.) Doodles complained about having to listen. “This isn’t my kind of music. Can you please put on the Beastie Boys?”

Pie was into it, and the two of us were dancing in the kitchen to “Late in the Evening.” I said to the boy, “You’ll like this song. It’s about boys getting into trouble!” His eyes widened as I put on “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.”

“What are they getting in trouble for?” he asked, fascinated. “Are they going to jail?”

“Just in the song. Um, I think they’re getting in trouble for smoking.”

“You can go to jail for smoking?”

“For smoking drugs.” But then I wasn’t sure, so I looked up the song and Wikipedia came to the rescue. Turns out the song is most likely about an arrest during an antiwar rally on a college campus. Which lead to “What’s a campus” which lead into “What’s an antiwar rally” which lead into “What’s Vietnam” which then finally ended up at “What started the Vietnam war?” At that point I used a lifeline and called my father to explain it to him. I did attempt diplomacy, because while both my parents were antiwar, Doodles’s grandfather on the other side actually fought in Vietnam.

So there you go. Reading Carrie Fisher can lead to the Vietnam War.

I’m enjoying this quiet. Yesterday was a bit hectic. Both kids had morning playdates. Doodles’s went well, and Pie’s eventually went okay, but there seemed to be a bit of confusion: Pie, the girl’s mother, and myself all thought it was a drop-off playdate. No one, however, told the girl and she asked every few minutes when her mom was coming. The kids started playing exactly seven minutes before the mom came to pick the girl up. I really want to make a dig at the mom here, because I know she reads this (Hi, D!), but my mind is filled with Paul Simon and I’m not coming up with anything clever.

I was in uber-haus frau mode yesterday and I used up a batch of overripe bananas to make yummy strawberry-banana mini muffins. Only my boy and Pie’s playdate don’t like strawberries. So I made a second batch of banana mini muffins. And in a rare show of generosity, I spiked those muffins with a plethora of chocolate chips. Am I a cool mom or what? Of course the answer is “or what,” as my son took one bite and announced, “I don’t think I like chocolate anymore.” Anyone want 48 chocolate-chip banana mini muffins?

To continue the haus frau theme of the day, I have a collection of fat quarters, which are large squares of cloth. At Pie’s request (who by the way, has been calling me “Jenny” for months now, but in the past week or so has started calling me “Gin-tay”) I made her a headband. But when I went to try it on her, she threw it across the room in a fit of something. She’s been in a throwing mood lately.

So after a quick errand, I stripped the kids and let them loose with fabric paints. Doodles thought it was “boring” and he wasn’t going to do it, but of course the minute Pie started, he was all over it. I made one for Adam and the kids spent about an hour working on their masterpieces. I then spent about an hour trying to get the paint off of them. Doodles still has some large streaks on his neck. I’m pretending he’s just a punk rock kid because it’s easier than cleaning him.

I planned a lovely family dinner for us–a quiche filled with our Boston Organics veggies–but a quick kid meltdown let me see the error of my ways, so it was a fast mac and cheese and off to bed for those two. The quiche was enjoyed by adults at a later hour.

And now, I’m going to read the final chapter of The Great Brain and then it’s off to the library for the next round of books before our afternoon playdates. Exciting life, I know. But it’s the only one I’ve got.

Okay, computer, I’m done with you. You may now go back to work.