Evening. Interior office. Andrew enters.
ANDREW: How can there only be three bananas left? This morning, there were eight!
MAUREEN: You mean there were eight bananas this morning, and then each of the five of us ate one and now there are three? HOW CAN THAT BE?
ANDREW: Shut up.
Scene.
He's right though, the rate at which we go through bananas is positively shocking. I cannot keep them in the house, even though I instituted a policy that anyone in a grocery store must buy bananas no matter how many bananas were purchased just yesterday. We are always out of bananas.
Showing posts with label Andrew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Andrew. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Overly ambitious
This past Tuesday I had a work obligation that kept me out of the house from 7am till 9pm, so when we were planning the week's meals, I told Andrew he could make anything he wanted that day, but maybe he'd like something simple. "Eggs? Cereal? Pasta?" I suggested.
"You're going to be gone, right?" he said. "You don't like lobster. Maybe I'll make lobster thermidore!"
I swear, that is what he suggested. He was going to have all three kids all day long, from breakfast through bedtime, and he wanted to make lobster thermidore. For himself and the children. It's not that I doubted his ability to cook it, it's just... lobster thermidore? Really?
So we looked it up in Julia Child, and she says right up front that lobster thermidore is not difficult, per se, but that there are a lot of steps. "A lot of steps!" I said. "Maybe it's not such a great idea." Happily, Andrew came to his senses and instead of making lobster thermidore, he heated up some Boca burgers. For which he made fresh buns, though. He is quite capable. Just delusional sometimes, I guess.
"You're going to be gone, right?" he said. "You don't like lobster. Maybe I'll make lobster thermidore!"
I swear, that is what he suggested. He was going to have all three kids all day long, from breakfast through bedtime, and he wanted to make lobster thermidore. For himself and the children. It's not that I doubted his ability to cook it, it's just... lobster thermidore? Really?
So we looked it up in Julia Child, and she says right up front that lobster thermidore is not difficult, per se, but that there are a lot of steps. "A lot of steps!" I said. "Maybe it's not such a great idea." Happily, Andrew came to his senses and instead of making lobster thermidore, he heated up some Boca burgers. For which he made fresh buns, though. He is quite capable. Just delusional sometimes, I guess.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
When engineers get mad
Last night Andrew and I got into a fight about fluid
dynamics. Yep. See, I had been trying to recreate this weather experiment on
cyclones and anti-cyclones: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzqvGIAWHOk,
but I couldn’t get the dynamic profile to fully develop. If you don’t have time
to click on the video, just know that the experimental set up is a can of ice
set inside a pan of rheologic fluid which is in turn set inside a larger pan.
The entire apparatus is spinning on a turntable, and at the start of the
experiment, hot water is poured into the second, larger pan. The setup is a
model of the earth: The can of ice models the cold “north pole”, and the hot water
warms up the equator (the outside edge of the inner pan).
In the video, you can see three cyclones and three
anti-cyclones form, and in between them is a continuous line which is a model
for the jet stream. But when I tried to repeat the experiment, I never got
steady cyclones or anti-cyclones; I just saw small transient cyclones form at
the “north pole.” The video is only a demonstration and therefore doesn’t give
a step-by-step methodology, so I wasn’t sure which critical thing I was
missing. One of the differences between my set up and the one in the video,
however, is that I have a Lazy Susan, and not an electric turntable, so I
couldn’t start the rotation until after I had poured in the hot water, but I
was pretty sure that wouldn’t matter. I thought I’d ask Andrew what he thought,
though. You should note that I had shown Andrew the video the night before, so
I thought he was familiar with the setup.
But Andrew said the lack of rotation would make a difference, because the hot water would make hot
spots. I blinked. What? Hot spots? In the outer pan? I stared at him, confused.
“No it wouldn’t,” I said, lamely.
“Of course it would!” he said. “The hot water would make
one part hot before it could get everywhere!”
Again, I was at a loss. Did Andrew not understand that
water… flows? “But the water doesn’t just
stay in one place!” I said. “How could it make a hot spot?”
I won’t repeat the whole argument word for word, although,
actually, I pretty much already did. We basically just kept repeating those two
statements back and forth to each other, with growing frustration. “It HAS to
create a hot spot!” “But the water doesn’t just stay still!”
Eventually, he said he couldn’t talk to me about it
anymore, because he was just too aggravated. I, however, insisted that we
continue. “I think you are not understanding something,” I said, “Because it
cannot make a hot spot! The water is being poured into an empty pan. It goes
all over the pan! It flows!”
“Wait… you’re not pouring the water into the fluid?”
Andrew asked.
OH THANK GOODNESS. So here’s what was happening. Andrew
thought I was pouring hot water into a cold fluid and failing to understand
that this would create a hot spot before the mixture had time to come to thermal
equilibrium, something that I should understand very well given my degree in
chemical engineering which is basically the study of heat transfer and fluid
flow. But to me, it seemed like Andrew was failing to understand that when you
pour water into a dish it will not stack up on top of itself but will instead flow
into the pan, something that Andrew should understand very well given that he
has POURED WATER BEFORE.
I tell you, we argued about this for a good ten minutes. And
I think we had such trouble finding different words to explain what we were
talking about, because what each of us WANTED to say was, “WHY ARE YOU BEING AN
IDIOT?”
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Use what you have
Andrew was holding the naked baby, having just gotten her
ready for a bath. While I drew the bath, I noticed that this time, Andrew
neglected to put a prefold diaper between her and his arm, the way he usually
does in this situation. I turned my attention back to the tub and then heard
Andrew yelling from the bathroom doorway. “Get me a diaper! Get me a diaper!”
he cried out. But it took me too long and Andrew, already streaked with wet
down his leg, saw the puddle on the floor approaching the kitchen baseboard.
Because our house is so slanty, the baseboard does not actually meet the floor
in a few places; for example, the place towards which the puddle was heading.
So Andrew mopped it up with the only thing he had. His sock. Which he was
wearing.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Spoiled rotten
So did you all have a nice Christmas? I had a nice Christmas. I got a Kindle! It is totally awesome. I had been avoiding purchasing one because I was afraid that I would immediately spend thousands of dollars on books, because each one is so cheap! And all I have to do to buy it is push this button! But so far, I’ve only bought Mockingjay which I’d had on request at the library for weeks and which naturally arrived for me about thirty seconds after I bought it. I also bought Scrabble, because did you know you could play Scrabble on the Kindle? It’s excellent, because I have no one to play with. Andrew won’t play with me because he gets too mad when I slaughter him, which I routinely do. I don’t mean to brag*, but I’m pretty amazing at Scrabble.
What really helps with keeping the Kindle costs down is the plethora of free books available. They’re mostly old books that are out of copyright, several of which I downloaded with excellent intentions but which I will probably never read, thanks to Scrabble. I also got a newer book that was free because of some promotion, but it’s pretty terrible, and I may not finish it. We shall see.
More significantly, the Anne Shirley books by L.M. Montgomery are also free, and I have happily been rereading the ones I no longer own and sort of forget a little. But if you follow me on Twitter, you already know that for some mysterious reason, Amazon’s Kindle store doesn’t have two of the novels. I may have talked about this on Twitter quite a bit. I may have been fairly outraged. But it is outrageous! The Kindle store seems to think I have IMAGINED Anne of Windy Poplars and Anne of Ingleside. I even got to the point where I was willing to pay for Anne of Ingleside, but even the collection of “all eight Anne Shirley novels” you can buy in the Kindle store for 99 cents doesn’t include them. Instead, the collection includes Chronicles of Avonlea and Further Chronicles of Avonlea. These, my friends, are not “Anne Shirley novels.” These are not even novels. They are anthologies, and, OK, yes, Anne makes a cameo appearance in a few of the stories, but that in no way makes up for the fact that the Kindle store is pretending Anne of Ingleside and Anne of Windy Poplars didn’t happen. THEY HAPPENED, Kindle store. Do not MESS with my Anne of Green Gables books.
But I digress.
I also got a wall-mounted radio for the kitchen to replace my under-cabinet one with a broken CD player and completely snapped off power and volume-down buttons. The broken one was technically more than sufficient, since all I ever listen to is NPR and the remote turns it on and off, but it sure is nice to have a shiny new one with far better sound quality. Really shows off the timber of Carl Kassel’s rumbling baritone, you know?
Andrew, on the other hand, got a selection of the geekiest, nerdiest Christmas presents ever known to man. From me. And he loves them all. His “big” gift, the gift that I knew he’d be most excited about, was a TI-85 graphing calculator. Andrew’s original TI-85, the one he had in college, broke a few years ago. Since the TI-85 has been discontinued, Andrew thought he was out of luck. But then I blogged about it, and Arwen’s husband Bryan gave him his. Ah, the magic of the internet. (Well, the magic of the internet plus the magic of being internet friends with thoughtful, generous people.) Sadly, Andrew spilled Chinese food on Bryan's a few months ago, and it broke. Andrew has been bereft ever since. Bereft, I tell you. Where was he supposed to store his variables? Fortunately, I had a brainwave a few weeks before Christmas and harnessed the magic of the internet once again and bought him one on Ebay. Best Christmas present ever. The only thing missing, it turned out, was the manual. I got that for him off Ebay after Christmas, and the day it arrived, I found this scene on my way to bed:
So what’s geekier? The way he lays out his breakfast along with his breakfast reading before he goes to bed? Or the fact that his breakfast reading is a CALCULATOR MANUAL?
If you check back a few paragraphs however, you’ll note that I claimed Andrew got a selection of geeky presents. You see, I had planned to write mainly about the calculator, but then I mentally ran through the list of gifts I got him, and it struck me as hilarious. So here you go:
1. A discontinued graphing calculator
2. A book about the elements
3. A book about being a geeky dad
4. Socks
I know I’ve gone on for quite a while here, but I can’t end this post without telling the internet about the set of tools my father-in-law bought for my four-year-old son. It included, among other things, a hammer, a saw, a screwdriver, and a hasp.
Despite my father-in-law’s very indignant claim that “They’re plastic,” when we made fun of him, they are not, in fact, plastic. That there is a real saw. It is a small saw, yes. A child-sized saw, if you will. But a saw quite capable of cutting through wood – and therefore fingers – all the same.
Call us crazy, but we don’t allow our children to play with sharpened metal blades until they are at least five.
*Yes, I do.
What really helps with keeping the Kindle costs down is the plethora of free books available. They’re mostly old books that are out of copyright, several of which I downloaded with excellent intentions but which I will probably never read, thanks to Scrabble. I also got a newer book that was free because of some promotion, but it’s pretty terrible, and I may not finish it. We shall see.
More significantly, the Anne Shirley books by L.M. Montgomery are also free, and I have happily been rereading the ones I no longer own and sort of forget a little. But if you follow me on Twitter, you already know that for some mysterious reason, Amazon’s Kindle store doesn’t have two of the novels. I may have talked about this on Twitter quite a bit. I may have been fairly outraged. But it is outrageous! The Kindle store seems to think I have IMAGINED Anne of Windy Poplars and Anne of Ingleside. I even got to the point where I was willing to pay for Anne of Ingleside, but even the collection of “all eight Anne Shirley novels” you can buy in the Kindle store for 99 cents doesn’t include them. Instead, the collection includes Chronicles of Avonlea and Further Chronicles of Avonlea. These, my friends, are not “Anne Shirley novels.” These are not even novels. They are anthologies, and, OK, yes, Anne makes a cameo appearance in a few of the stories, but that in no way makes up for the fact that the Kindle store is pretending Anne of Ingleside and Anne of Windy Poplars didn’t happen. THEY HAPPENED, Kindle store. Do not MESS with my Anne of Green Gables books.
But I digress.
I also got a wall-mounted radio for the kitchen to replace my under-cabinet one with a broken CD player and completely snapped off power and volume-down buttons. The broken one was technically more than sufficient, since all I ever listen to is NPR and the remote turns it on and off, but it sure is nice to have a shiny new one with far better sound quality. Really shows off the timber of Carl Kassel’s rumbling baritone, you know?
Andrew, on the other hand, got a selection of the geekiest, nerdiest Christmas presents ever known to man. From me. And he loves them all. His “big” gift, the gift that I knew he’d be most excited about, was a TI-85 graphing calculator. Andrew’s original TI-85, the one he had in college, broke a few years ago. Since the TI-85 has been discontinued, Andrew thought he was out of luck. But then I blogged about it, and Arwen’s husband Bryan gave him his. Ah, the magic of the internet. (Well, the magic of the internet plus the magic of being internet friends with thoughtful, generous people.) Sadly, Andrew spilled Chinese food on Bryan's a few months ago, and it broke. Andrew has been bereft ever since. Bereft, I tell you. Where was he supposed to store his variables? Fortunately, I had a brainwave a few weeks before Christmas and harnessed the magic of the internet once again and bought him one on Ebay. Best Christmas present ever. The only thing missing, it turned out, was the manual. I got that for him off Ebay after Christmas, and the day it arrived, I found this scene on my way to bed:
So what’s geekier? The way he lays out his breakfast along with his breakfast reading before he goes to bed? Or the fact that his breakfast reading is a CALCULATOR MANUAL?
If you check back a few paragraphs however, you’ll note that I claimed Andrew got a selection of geeky presents. You see, I had planned to write mainly about the calculator, but then I mentally ran through the list of gifts I got him, and it struck me as hilarious. So here you go:
1. A discontinued graphing calculator
2. A book about the elements
3. A book about being a geeky dad
4. Socks
I know I’ve gone on for quite a while here, but I can’t end this post without telling the internet about the set of tools my father-in-law bought for my four-year-old son. It included, among other things, a hammer, a saw, a screwdriver, and a hasp.
Despite my father-in-law’s very indignant claim that “They’re plastic,” when we made fun of him, they are not, in fact, plastic. That there is a real saw. It is a small saw, yes. A child-sized saw, if you will. But a saw quite capable of cutting through wood – and therefore fingers – all the same.
Call us crazy, but we don’t allow our children to play with sharpened metal blades until they are at least five.
*Yes, I do.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Thankful tree, take 2
I thoroughly enjoyed making the thankful tree last year, so today we did it again. I had to, it is on the list of "Monday chores" for getting ready to host Thanksgiving this week.
I now present to you Jack's list of things he is thankful for, in the order he mentioned them:
1. my scooter
2. food
3. chicken [Technically, items 2. and 3. were presented as "food and chicken and stuff." -ed.]
4. shows [A repeat item! What can I say, the kid loves TV.]
5. Mommy [Daddy didn't make the cut, but don't feel bad, because he's the thing Jack is thankful for at school.]
6. apples
7. my bed
8. fishing [Note: he has never been fishing.]
9. my helmet
10. our house
11. my family
12. the color yellow
13. corn on the cob
For contrast, here is my list, which I made in order to subtly suggest to him things that might be good to put on the tree:
1. the dishwasher
2. our house
3. Jack
4. Nora
5. Daddy
6. clothes
7. the internet [What? I'm also putting on things I'm actually thankful for, after all.]
8. my bed
9. pancakes
10. Grammy and Papa
11. clementines
I also made a list on Nora's behalf. It includes one item.
1. my baby
Andrew made his list when he got home:
1. gum
2. superbowl parties
3. the Merritt parkway
Now Andrew's list needs a bit of explanation. First, Jack requested that he put on gum. I think because Jack is planning to buy gum for Andrew's birthday present, and he wanted to be sure he really does like it. "Well, I guess I am thankful for gum," conceded Andrew. As for the other two, well, Andrew and I met at a superbowl party and got engaged on the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut on the way back to grad school/ his job.
Excuse me, I have something in my eye.
I now present to you Jack's list of things he is thankful for, in the order he mentioned them:
1. my scooter
2. food
3. chicken [Technically, items 2. and 3. were presented as "food and chicken and stuff." -ed.]
4. shows [A repeat item! What can I say, the kid loves TV.]
5. Mommy [Daddy didn't make the cut, but don't feel bad, because he's the thing Jack is thankful for at school.]
6. apples
7. my bed
8. fishing [Note: he has never been fishing.]
9. my helmet
10. our house
11. my family
12. the color yellow
13. corn on the cob
For contrast, here is my list, which I made in order to subtly suggest to him things that might be good to put on the tree:
1. the dishwasher
2. our house
3. Jack
4. Nora
5. Daddy
6. clothes
7. the internet [What? I'm also putting on things I'm actually thankful for, after all.]
8. my bed
9. pancakes
10. Grammy and Papa
11. clementines
I also made a list on Nora's behalf. It includes one item.
1. my baby
Andrew made his list when he got home:
1. gum
2. superbowl parties
3. the Merritt parkway
Now Andrew's list needs a bit of explanation. First, Jack requested that he put on gum. I think because Jack is planning to buy gum for Andrew's birthday present, and he wanted to be sure he really does like it. "Well, I guess I am thankful for gum," conceded Andrew. As for the other two, well, Andrew and I met at a superbowl party and got engaged on the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut on the way back to grad school/ his job.
Excuse me, I have something in my eye.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
One day a week
Latest post up at The Bump.
Andrew and I are blessed with an unusual work arrangement. He works long days four days a week leaving him free to stay home with the children on the two Thursdays a month that I work. We’ve been doing this pretty much since Jack was born; the only thing that has really changed is my own work situation, but the point is that Andrew has been solo-parenting one day a week for three years. If there is any way you can arrange something similar, I highly recommend you try it. Not only does this arrangement give me the sanity that comes from getting out of the house without kids to do something mentally stimulating, it gives Andrew the chance to do some solo parenting once in a while. And when I get home on Thursday afternoon, we both have a new perspective on things.
Read the rest at The Bump!
Andrew and I are blessed with an unusual work arrangement. He works long days four days a week leaving him free to stay home with the children on the two Thursdays a month that I work. We’ve been doing this pretty much since Jack was born; the only thing that has really changed is my own work situation, but the point is that Andrew has been solo-parenting one day a week for three years. If there is any way you can arrange something similar, I highly recommend you try it. Not only does this arrangement give me the sanity that comes from getting out of the house without kids to do something mentally stimulating, it gives Andrew the chance to do some solo parenting once in a while. And when I get home on Thursday afternoon, we both have a new perspective on things.
Read the rest at The Bump!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
I also do not give her scissors
I've been teaching Nora how to drink from a cup. I've been doing this because I sometimes have to use frozen milk to make her cereal, and whatever she doesn't consume I have to throw out. Why not a bottle? Because it is so much fun to watch her try to drink from a cup! Seriously, all you parents of babies should try it. She leans way in and bites the edge of the cup, which, now that she has two bottom teeth poking through, makes a clicking noise. I'm pretty sure that she thinks the biting is a critical step in the drinking process. And sometimes she sticks her tongue into the milk and laps it up like a cat. It is hilarious.
Yes. I use a shot glass. It's the perfect size! You will note, however, that the shot glass is made of glass, which makes the following anecdote all the better.
This morning, I told Andrew that I started giving Nora water after her solid meals because one of my baby food books says it can help with digestion, and the prunes haven't been cutting it. "I'm going to use the Maryland shot glass, then, instead of the Argentina or Hawaii ones, because we could potentially replace a broken Maryland glass," he said.
"Makes sense," I said, because Nora does tend to grab at my hands when I'm giving her a drink, so it's certainly possible to drop the glass. But then I turned around and saw that Andrew had filled a shot glass with water and just given it to the baby. He gave it to her! And walked away!
"Andrew!" I said, as I snatched it out of her hands. "You can't just give it to her!"
"Well, I thought that's what you said!" he protested.
"You thought I gave our six-month old baby a glass cup full of water and you didn't QUESTION me on that?"
Oh, you can be sure I'll be bringing this one up for WEEKS.
Yes. I use a shot glass. It's the perfect size! You will note, however, that the shot glass is made of glass, which makes the following anecdote all the better.
This morning, I told Andrew that I started giving Nora water after her solid meals because one of my baby food books says it can help with digestion, and the prunes haven't been cutting it. "I'm going to use the Maryland shot glass, then, instead of the Argentina or Hawaii ones, because we could potentially replace a broken Maryland glass," he said.
"Makes sense," I said, because Nora does tend to grab at my hands when I'm giving her a drink, so it's certainly possible to drop the glass. But then I turned around and saw that Andrew had filled a shot glass with water and just given it to the baby. He gave it to her! And walked away!
"Andrew!" I said, as I snatched it out of her hands. "You can't just give it to her!"
"Well, I thought that's what you said!" he protested.
"You thought I gave our six-month old baby a glass cup full of water and you didn't QUESTION me on that?"
Oh, you can be sure I'll be bringing this one up for WEEKS.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Still nothing.
Yesterday I took my midwife friend's advice and tried "curb-walking." (This is walking with one foot on the curb and one in the street.) It seemed to get some contractions going, so I went for a second walk during Jack's nap and ended up wearing myself completely out and having to take a nap as well. Sadly, all the contractions petered out and I was left with nothing but sore calves. You should see what the combination of sore calves and a being nine months pregnant does for a person's gait. It's not pretty.
I had called my parents in the morning to say that I thought maybe things were beginning, so I had to call them back in the evening to inform them of the unfortunate turn of events. "Well," said my Dad, "you'll go to bed and relax for a while, and that will get things moving."
"Now you're just making stuff up," I told him. Then my mom got on the phone and said, "You should try taking a walk."
"I did," I said. "In fact, I walked long enough that I completely wore myself out!"
"Oh, don't wear yourself out," she replied. "You should put your feet up and relax!"
I laughed and said, "Well which is it, Mom? Should I go for a walk or relax? I can't do both!" She then told me that my dad made her a whiskey sour when she was due with their second, but, sadly, we have no sour mix. Well, that and I wasn't really in the mood.
And today is Father's Day, and poor Andrew spend the whole thing pretty much waiting on me hand and foot. I did get up with Jack and let Andrew sleep "in" a bit during which time I chopped things for his omelette, but I didn't MAKE the omelette because I figured Andrew would want a GOOD breakfast on Father's Day. Omelettes are his forte. Breakfast in general is his domain, actually, but I am at least capable of making other things. Just not omelettes.
(My friend The Photographer once asked me why I didn't have Andrew show me how to make an omelette. "Then you can make them!" she said.
"Why on earth would I want to do that?" I answered.
"Ah, yes. I see what you mean," she replied.)
At any rate, after my somewhat lame attempt at making his Father's Day nice, I spent the rest of the day napping and wandering sadly around the house while Andrew entertained Jack, cleaned the kitchen, and did laundry. This pregnancy is not going easy on him either. But, lest you feel TOO sorry for him, you should know that I also have a cold. And it is more than unfair to be 40+ weeks pregnant with a head cold. UNFAIR.
Well, my bag is packed and the induction is Thursday if she doesn't come sooner.
I had called my parents in the morning to say that I thought maybe things were beginning, so I had to call them back in the evening to inform them of the unfortunate turn of events. "Well," said my Dad, "you'll go to bed and relax for a while, and that will get things moving."
"Now you're just making stuff up," I told him. Then my mom got on the phone and said, "You should try taking a walk."
"I did," I said. "In fact, I walked long enough that I completely wore myself out!"
"Oh, don't wear yourself out," she replied. "You should put your feet up and relax!"
I laughed and said, "Well which is it, Mom? Should I go for a walk or relax? I can't do both!" She then told me that my dad made her a whiskey sour when she was due with their second, but, sadly, we have no sour mix. Well, that and I wasn't really in the mood.
And today is Father's Day, and poor Andrew spend the whole thing pretty much waiting on me hand and foot. I did get up with Jack and let Andrew sleep "in" a bit during which time I chopped things for his omelette, but I didn't MAKE the omelette because I figured Andrew would want a GOOD breakfast on Father's Day. Omelettes are his forte. Breakfast in general is his domain, actually, but I am at least capable of making other things. Just not omelettes.
(My friend The Photographer once asked me why I didn't have Andrew show me how to make an omelette. "Then you can make them!" she said.
"Why on earth would I want to do that?" I answered.
"Ah, yes. I see what you mean," she replied.)
At any rate, after my somewhat lame attempt at making his Father's Day nice, I spent the rest of the day napping and wandering sadly around the house while Andrew entertained Jack, cleaned the kitchen, and did laundry. This pregnancy is not going easy on him either. But, lest you feel TOO sorry for him, you should know that I also have a cold. And it is more than unfair to be 40+ weeks pregnant with a head cold. UNFAIR.
Well, my bag is packed and the induction is Thursday if she doesn't come sooner.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Yes, he has been rethinking that statement
Andrew and I are practicing hypnobirthing techniques on our own this time around. (We practice on Friday nights because that is the sort of action-packed life we lead.) Since we took a class last time, "practicing" consists of Andrew reading me scripts while I get very comfortable and focus on relaxing. And even though this is not exactly a hardship on either of us, we both regard it as a bit of a chore when all we really want to do is veg out in front of the TV.
Which is why, last Friday, Andrew moaned and groaned and said to me, "At least you have the EASY part."
He kind of wishes he hadn't said that.
Which is why, last Friday, Andrew moaned and groaned and said to me, "At least you have the EASY part."
He kind of wishes he hadn't said that.
Friday, January 30, 2009
I am too cranky to think of a title
To enter the PIF contest, leave a comment on the entry below this one! (Snowed in.)
Today is my last day of single parenting. Can I get an "Amen"? All in all, the ordeal was... not that much of an ordeal, considering. Jack was honestly a perfect angel all week, at least until last night (see below). The worst of it was being stuck at home for two days in a row due to snow and illness. Not my illness, the illness of the people I was going to go visit yesterday so I could have some face time with adults. So as a result of being stuck inside my house for two straight days with no adults I got a bit depressed last night. I may have cried a little. But I would have cried a lot less if Grey's Anatomy - which I never even watch anymore but NBC was showing reruns - had not featured an eighty-year-old man performing futile CPR on his dying wife of sixty years. That and the fact that I was stuck at home folding LAUNDRY while Andrew was gallivanting around the California coast, living it up with restaurant dinners, hotel linens and ADULT CONVERSATION. So yes, there might have been a tiny bit of martyred resentment in those tears last night.
Somehow, I gathered myself together and was just about to get into bed when Jack opened his bedroom door. I ended up in his bed for awhile, then in the rocking chair in his room. I kept waiting until I heard steady even breathing and then I would try to sneak out when up he would pop! "Sit in chay-ah, Mummy!" he would whimper pathetically. Imagining how I'd feel in the morning if I slept curled up in a rocking chair all night, I tried getting back in his bed for a while, but ultimately I had to push my own bed against the wall and we both "slept" there for the rest of the night. I should note that "the rest of the night" consisted of the hours of 3:00-6:30 am.
So today we are going to visit my friend The Photographer even though Jack and I are too tired to go anywhere and having lunch in a restaurant with a sleep-deprived toddler is probably a bad idea. But if you look back up in the first paragraph, you'll see that I have not left the house or seen another adult for two full days and it is not doing good things for my psyche, so I'm willing to risk it.
Let's just hope I can get the car over the sheet of ice we call a "driveway."
Today is my last day of single parenting. Can I get an "Amen"? All in all, the ordeal was... not that much of an ordeal, considering. Jack was honestly a perfect angel all week, at least until last night (see below). The worst of it was being stuck at home for two days in a row due to snow and illness. Not my illness, the illness of the people I was going to go visit yesterday so I could have some face time with adults. So as a result of being stuck inside my house for two straight days with no adults I got a bit depressed last night. I may have cried a little. But I would have cried a lot less if Grey's Anatomy - which I never even watch anymore but NBC was showing reruns - had not featured an eighty-year-old man performing futile CPR on his dying wife of sixty years. That and the fact that I was stuck at home folding LAUNDRY while Andrew was gallivanting around the California coast, living it up with restaurant dinners, hotel linens and ADULT CONVERSATION. So yes, there might have been a tiny bit of martyred resentment in those tears last night.
Somehow, I gathered myself together and was just about to get into bed when Jack opened his bedroom door. I ended up in his bed for awhile, then in the rocking chair in his room. I kept waiting until I heard steady even breathing and then I would try to sneak out when up he would pop! "Sit in chay-ah, Mummy!" he would whimper pathetically. Imagining how I'd feel in the morning if I slept curled up in a rocking chair all night, I tried getting back in his bed for a while, but ultimately I had to push my own bed against the wall and we both "slept" there for the rest of the night. I should note that "the rest of the night" consisted of the hours of 3:00-6:30 am.
So today we are going to visit my friend The Photographer even though Jack and I are too tired to go anywhere and having lunch in a restaurant with a sleep-deprived toddler is probably a bad idea. But if you look back up in the first paragraph, you'll see that I have not left the house or seen another adult for two full days and it is not doing good things for my psyche, so I'm willing to risk it.
Let's just hope I can get the car over the sheet of ice we call a "driveway."
Monday, September 29, 2008
The salt
Some of you noticed something… unusual about our spice cabinet.
What? Is three pounds of salt a lot? It’s just that we’re setting it aside in case salt ever returns to its roots as a salary base.
Thank you! I’ll be here all week!
No, the truth is that, while three pounds of salt suggests that Andrew and I have incredibly high blood pressure, we actually eat very little salt. You see, we both brought salt to the marriage. He had salt. I had salt. We got married and had two salts. Why throw away perfectly good salt? And then this summer, we bought a farm share and Andrew got all gung ho about making pickles which apparently require uniodized salt. So we’re pretty much set for salt is what I’m saying.
But you know how salt is one of those things you never buy because a pound of salt is basically an infinite supply? So the first time you move into your own apartment, you reach for the salt and it’s not there? When Andrew moved into his first solo apartment after grad school, he emailed me to complain about the outrageous price of salt. “What are you talking about?” I typed back. “It’s, like, fifty cents a pound!”
“Well at my store it’s six dollars a pound,” he replied, to my disbelieving eyes. When I finally made it up there to visit him, I found a tiny box of Kosher sea salt in his pantry. Uniodized.
What? Is three pounds of salt a lot? It’s just that we’re setting it aside in case salt ever returns to its roots as a salary base.
Thank you! I’ll be here all week!
No, the truth is that, while three pounds of salt suggests that Andrew and I have incredibly high blood pressure, we actually eat very little salt. You see, we both brought salt to the marriage. He had salt. I had salt. We got married and had two salts. Why throw away perfectly good salt? And then this summer, we bought a farm share and Andrew got all gung ho about making pickles which apparently require uniodized salt. So we’re pretty much set for salt is what I’m saying.
But you know how salt is one of those things you never buy because a pound of salt is basically an infinite supply? So the first time you move into your own apartment, you reach for the salt and it’s not there? When Andrew moved into his first solo apartment after grad school, he emailed me to complain about the outrageous price of salt. “What are you talking about?” I typed back. “It’s, like, fifty cents a pound!”
“Well at my store it’s six dollars a pound,” he replied, to my disbelieving eyes. When I finally made it up there to visit him, I found a tiny box of Kosher sea salt in his pantry. Uniodized.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Housekeeping
Remember my spice storage problem?
Solved.
Yes, those are boxes. Metal mesh CD storage boxes from Target, to be exact. Andrew has admitted that the alphabetized box system, and I quote, “does work pretty well.” So, HA. HA HA HA. HAAAAAAA. Admittedly, there have been a few kinks, like how it is remarkably difficult to find boxes that are the exact size and shape you want. And how I originally bought three boxes which turned out not to be enough, so I went back to Target to get more, but Target claimed never to have heard of these boxes. I went to two different Targets and even brought the SKU tag to scan at the price checker, and… nothing. Nothing online either. As far as anyone could tell, those boxes were not sold at Target – or anywhere else for that matter – and I had apparently manufactured them myself as an elaborate hoax.
But last Friday I was at yet another Target much closer to the Target* where I originally bought them and lo and behold, there were three metal mesh CD storage boxes sitting innocently on the shelf! I only needed one more, but I bought all three in case they vanished again. So now we’re good, except for the fact that the boxes don’t fit properly on the bottom shelf of the cabinet because of a ridge thing in the back, but WHATEVER.
And, now that I’ve talked for entirely too long about my spice storage, let’s talk about walnuts. Did you know that walnuts look like this?
Neither did I! We’ve been finding these in our backyard since we moved in three years ago. The first year, there were three or four of them. This year, they filled up half of a 30-gallon trash barrel. This suggests an increase in numbers. It should be noted that we do not actually HAVE a walnut tree on or near our property. The closest one is across the street, but the squirrels’ very favorite place to eat the walnuts is in the trees overhanging our backyard. They are also extremely fond at throwing the walnuts down into our yard. Two points if you hit the horseshoe pit!**
It was while cleaning up those 15 gallons of walnuts that I finally figured out they WERE walnuts. We had been wondering and wondering what the weird green fruits were, but it was not till I picked up my fifty-thousandth disintegrating green fruit thing that I noticed there was a hard, walnut-like pit inside. Then I further noticed a lot of what looked like walnut shells all over the place, and… wait… maybe THESE are walnuts. Is this how walnuts grow?
Turns out, yeah.
At any rate, about thirty seconds after I had picked up the last rotting walnut and dragged the barrel back to its place, I heard three thumps followed by a squirrely sounding shout of “Two points!” Muttering, I went back to the end of the yard to gather up the fresh walnuts. I had already taken put my gloves back in the shed, so I picked them up bare-handed.
You know something else about walnuts? In between the green skin and the familiar walnut shell is a layer of – if you'll forgive me for getting technical here – black smutsch.
And it was while holding one of the gnawed walnuts in my gloveless hands that I discovered why the squirrels throw so many of the walnuts to the ground, uneaten.
Worms. Worms in the black smutsch.
If you need me, I’ll be washing my hands.
*This brings the Target count to four, but it does not include the other Target I can also get to. This is a lot of Targets. Just thought I’d point that out.
**We do not have any horseshoes, just two pits with dangerous metal spikes sticking out of the ground. They came with the house.
Solved.
Yes, those are boxes. Metal mesh CD storage boxes from Target, to be exact. Andrew has admitted that the alphabetized box system, and I quote, “does work pretty well.” So, HA. HA HA HA. HAAAAAAA. Admittedly, there have been a few kinks, like how it is remarkably difficult to find boxes that are the exact size and shape you want. And how I originally bought three boxes which turned out not to be enough, so I went back to Target to get more, but Target claimed never to have heard of these boxes. I went to two different Targets and even brought the SKU tag to scan at the price checker, and… nothing. Nothing online either. As far as anyone could tell, those boxes were not sold at Target – or anywhere else for that matter – and I had apparently manufactured them myself as an elaborate hoax.
But last Friday I was at yet another Target much closer to the Target* where I originally bought them and lo and behold, there were three metal mesh CD storage boxes sitting innocently on the shelf! I only needed one more, but I bought all three in case they vanished again. So now we’re good, except for the fact that the boxes don’t fit properly on the bottom shelf of the cabinet because of a ridge thing in the back, but WHATEVER.
And, now that I’ve talked for entirely too long about my spice storage, let’s talk about walnuts. Did you know that walnuts look like this?
Neither did I! We’ve been finding these in our backyard since we moved in three years ago. The first year, there were three or four of them. This year, they filled up half of a 30-gallon trash barrel. This suggests an increase in numbers. It should be noted that we do not actually HAVE a walnut tree on or near our property. The closest one is across the street, but the squirrels’ very favorite place to eat the walnuts is in the trees overhanging our backyard. They are also extremely fond at throwing the walnuts down into our yard. Two points if you hit the horseshoe pit!**
It was while cleaning up those 15 gallons of walnuts that I finally figured out they WERE walnuts. We had been wondering and wondering what the weird green fruits were, but it was not till I picked up my fifty-thousandth disintegrating green fruit thing that I noticed there was a hard, walnut-like pit inside. Then I further noticed a lot of what looked like walnut shells all over the place, and… wait… maybe THESE are walnuts. Is this how walnuts grow?
Turns out, yeah.
At any rate, about thirty seconds after I had picked up the last rotting walnut and dragged the barrel back to its place, I heard three thumps followed by a squirrely sounding shout of “Two points!” Muttering, I went back to the end of the yard to gather up the fresh walnuts. I had already taken put my gloves back in the shed, so I picked them up bare-handed.
You know something else about walnuts? In between the green skin and the familiar walnut shell is a layer of – if you'll forgive me for getting technical here – black smutsch.
And it was while holding one of the gnawed walnuts in my gloveless hands that I discovered why the squirrels throw so many of the walnuts to the ground, uneaten.
Worms. Worms in the black smutsch.
If you need me, I’ll be washing my hands.
*This brings the Target count to four, but it does not include the other Target I can also get to. This is a lot of Targets. Just thought I’d point that out.
**We do not have any horseshoes, just two pits with dangerous metal spikes sticking out of the ground. They came with the house.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
How do you eat YOUR chips?
I am right this second going through receipts, and came across one of Andrew's from the grocery store. On 8/22/08, Andrew bought two pounds of butter and two bags of chips. And that is all.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Apparently, there is also a "Fatherhood brain"
After agreeing to be godparents to his brother-in-law’s new baby (coming soon!), Andrew and I discussed how our godchildren were starting to pile up. “Wait,” Andrew said. “How did you end up with only one when I have two?”
“What are you talking about?” I replied. “We both have two. I have The Charmer, you have his brother The Mischief Maker, and we both have The Youngest Girl.” The Youngest Girl is so young I don’t have a good nickname yet; her baptism was last month.
“Oh, right,” Andrew said. “You were at the baptism too.”
[Insert witty but brilliant segue here.]
In response to your bemused comments regarding my wine glass situation, I offer the following:
Question: How does one organize fifty wine glasses in a pleasing, attractive display? Answer: One does not. One lines them up in rows by type. One also wonders what one was thinking, exactly, when one registered for twelve place settings. One is kind of glad, actually, that one received “only” ten each of the goblets, wine glasses and champagne flutes. One also makes plans to put about half of the crystal into storage as insurance against breakage. One may or may not get around to that sometime this decade.
Question: Just when, exactly, does one ever expect to have 10 guests all drinking champagne?
Answer: One does not care, because the champagne flutes are the prettiest of them all.
Question: Is it a good idea to collect shot glasses from all the places one visits?
Answer: It is a good idea in theory, because shot glasses are cheap, have an actual use, and you can get them at the airport on the way home. In practice, however, one may find that fifteen or so shot glasses lined up in a row gives much more of a “frat house” feel to the décor than one might wish.
Oh, and as for washing the wine glasses, just do it by hand, carefully, with the soft side of the sponge. If your wine glasses have any kind of paint or metallic rim, use cold water. For what its worth, cheap glasses break more easily than fancy ones, in my experience.
And now, because I am afraid I will forget about this if I don’t record it for all posterity, Jack said good bye to Andrew last week thusly: “Bye, sweetie. Bye, sweetie-toot.” Andrew and I can take credit for “sweetie” as a term of endearment, but Jack made up “sweetie-toot” all on his own.
“What are you talking about?” I replied. “We both have two. I have The Charmer, you have his brother The Mischief Maker, and we both have The Youngest Girl.” The Youngest Girl is so young I don’t have a good nickname yet; her baptism was last month.
“Oh, right,” Andrew said. “You were at the baptism too.”
[Insert witty but brilliant segue here.]
In response to your bemused comments regarding my wine glass situation, I offer the following:
Question: How does one organize fifty wine glasses in a pleasing, attractive display? Answer: One does not. One lines them up in rows by type. One also wonders what one was thinking, exactly, when one registered for twelve place settings. One is kind of glad, actually, that one received “only” ten each of the goblets, wine glasses and champagne flutes. One also makes plans to put about half of the crystal into storage as insurance against breakage. One may or may not get around to that sometime this decade.
Question: Just when, exactly, does one ever expect to have 10 guests all drinking champagne?
Answer: One does not care, because the champagne flutes are the prettiest of them all.
Question: Is it a good idea to collect shot glasses from all the places one visits?
Answer: It is a good idea in theory, because shot glasses are cheap, have an actual use, and you can get them at the airport on the way home. In practice, however, one may find that fifteen or so shot glasses lined up in a row gives much more of a “frat house” feel to the décor than one might wish.
Oh, and as for washing the wine glasses, just do it by hand, carefully, with the soft side of the sponge. If your wine glasses have any kind of paint or metallic rim, use cold water. For what its worth, cheap glasses break more easily than fancy ones, in my experience.
And now, because I am afraid I will forget about this if I don’t record it for all posterity, Jack said good bye to Andrew last week thusly: “Bye, sweetie. Bye, sweetie-toot.” Andrew and I can take credit for “sweetie” as a term of endearment, but Jack made up “sweetie-toot” all on his own.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
It only seems like I’m still talking about the kitchen
In our old kitchen, we kept the spices in an IKEA “Billy” bookcase with CD inserts. We had originally thought we would put that bookcase back in the shiny new kitchen, but after we painted we realized it would look hideous, so into the outside pantry it went. Now, I had planned to go on keeping the spices in bookcase, but Andrew won’t let me because the outside pantry isn’t insulated. The spices! We must protect them from humidity and drastic changes in temperature!
So instead, we have haphazardly shoved the spices into one of our cabinets, all willy-nilly, thus ensuring that we will never be able to find the spice we want at any given moment. Since our old system in the Billy bookcase allowed us to group the spices alphabetically, this new system leaves something to be desired. (Leave me alone, it was a wonderful, not-OCD-at-all system. Shut up.) So last week I went out to try to purchase some sort of organizational device to save us from our living nightmare. I had planned to buy one of those expandable step-stair shelving things like this, but Bed & Bath didn’t have any. So I mulled things over and by the time I came home I realized that the step-stair shelves would be a terrible idea, because not only would it not hold all the spices, but it would also be impossible to get at the spices in the back without knocking down all the spices in the front, causing me to scream in rage and frustration. In fact, they’d probably all fall over every time I even opened the cabinet. No, what we needed were some boxes. Stackable boxes, sized perfectly for our cabinet. We could put the spices in the boxes in alphabetical groups, and label their tops. That way, if we needed cinnamon, we could take down the “A-G” box, scan the top, and pull the cinnamon out in a snap. A snap! It was genius. Genius, I tell you!
But when I explained my brilliant plan to Andrew, he was unimpressed. He thought the boxes were a terrible idea, saying that we wouldn’t be able to get at the short ones and they’d be impossible to get out of the boxes.
I remained calm in the face of this clear insanity, and asked him what he suggested as an alternative. He said something about shelves or something. I don’t think I was really listening, because I was too busy thinking about how my idea was the perfect solution, and wondering what was wrong with him that he couldn’t see it? Especially when, at one point, he said that in a perfect world he’d like to have a deep drawer for the spices. When we opened it, we could look down on their labeled lids. “But that is the same as boxes!” I cried in frustration.
After many agonizing minutes, I finally had to put a stop to the conversation because I was so incredibly irritated. “I got irritated ten minutes ago,” Andrew replied. And it took me the next two hours get over it. He was just so… wrong! And I was right! Right right right! And apparently, Andrew felt the same way in reverse.
But here’s the really interesting part. Andrew and I have been married for almost five years, and we’ve known each other for more than ten, but this was basically our first fight. This is in part because we are both non-confrontational, but also because we so rarely disagree. We either feel the same way about something, or else one of us doesn’t really care. So it’s nice to find out that we are able to remain calm, and take that necessary step away when discussing such highly charged subjects as spice storage.
So instead, we have haphazardly shoved the spices into one of our cabinets, all willy-nilly, thus ensuring that we will never be able to find the spice we want at any given moment. Since our old system in the Billy bookcase allowed us to group the spices alphabetically, this new system leaves something to be desired. (Leave me alone, it was a wonderful, not-OCD-at-all system. Shut up.) So last week I went out to try to purchase some sort of organizational device to save us from our living nightmare. I had planned to buy one of those expandable step-stair shelving things like this, but Bed & Bath didn’t have any. So I mulled things over and by the time I came home I realized that the step-stair shelves would be a terrible idea, because not only would it not hold all the spices, but it would also be impossible to get at the spices in the back without knocking down all the spices in the front, causing me to scream in rage and frustration. In fact, they’d probably all fall over every time I even opened the cabinet. No, what we needed were some boxes. Stackable boxes, sized perfectly for our cabinet. We could put the spices in the boxes in alphabetical groups, and label their tops. That way, if we needed cinnamon, we could take down the “A-G” box, scan the top, and pull the cinnamon out in a snap. A snap! It was genius. Genius, I tell you!
But when I explained my brilliant plan to Andrew, he was unimpressed. He thought the boxes were a terrible idea, saying that we wouldn’t be able to get at the short ones and they’d be impossible to get out of the boxes.
I remained calm in the face of this clear insanity, and asked him what he suggested as an alternative. He said something about shelves or something. I don’t think I was really listening, because I was too busy thinking about how my idea was the perfect solution, and wondering what was wrong with him that he couldn’t see it? Especially when, at one point, he said that in a perfect world he’d like to have a deep drawer for the spices. When we opened it, we could look down on their labeled lids. “But that is the same as boxes!” I cried in frustration.
After many agonizing minutes, I finally had to put a stop to the conversation because I was so incredibly irritated. “I got irritated ten minutes ago,” Andrew replied. And it took me the next two hours get over it. He was just so… wrong! And I was right! Right right right! And apparently, Andrew felt the same way in reverse.
But here’s the really interesting part. Andrew and I have been married for almost five years, and we’ve known each other for more than ten, but this was basically our first fight. This is in part because we are both non-confrontational, but also because we so rarely disagree. We either feel the same way about something, or else one of us doesn’t really care. So it’s nice to find out that we are able to remain calm, and take that necessary step away when discussing such highly charged subjects as spice storage.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The internet is awesome.
Remember when I wrote about the sad death of Andrew’s beloved TI-85? To my surprise, that turned out to be one of the posts that generated a lot of comments. (Seven is a lot for me, since I normally get two on a good day.) Well that post did more than generate comments, it netted Andrew replacement calculator!
It seems Arwen’s husband Bryan has moved on to bigger and better calculators since his days in Calculus III, and was willing to part with his old TI-85. I know what you – or at least Andrew – is thinking. Bigger and better calculators? Than the TI-85? No such thing!
But moved on he has, so Arwen shipped off the old calculator and Andrew, as you can see, is happy as a clam. He has promised to love it and pet it and call it George.
It seems Arwen’s husband Bryan has moved on to bigger and better calculators since his days in Calculus III, and was willing to part with his old TI-85. I know what you – or at least Andrew – is thinking. Bigger and better calculators? Than the TI-85? No such thing!
But moved on he has, so Arwen shipped off the old calculator and Andrew, as you can see, is happy as a clam. He has promised to love it and pet it and call it George.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Problems most of you were unaware existed
Andrew is very sad, because he is probably going to have to replace his calculator, and he’s had that calculator since 1992. It is a TI-85, and you can’t even get those anymore!
But the trusty ol’ TI-85 is on its last legs. Today the screen went blank after only 20 seconds even though he set the auto shutoff for 2 minutes. Not only that, but it cleared all the variables he had stored for that day!
What, you don’t have a list of variables you are going to need for the day?
But the trusty ol’ TI-85 is on its last legs. Today the screen went blank after only 20 seconds even though he set the auto shutoff for 2 minutes. Not only that, but it cleared all the variables he had stored for that day!
What, you don’t have a list of variables you are going to need for the day?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Posting by request
Andrew would like me to inform the internet in general, and Microsoft in particular, that he is only installing Windows Media Player because he loves me and I want to watch This American Life with our Netflix subscription. He has also authorized me to use the phrase "computer elitist."
I think clicking the "install" button may have caused him actual physical pain.
I think clicking the "install" button may have caused him actual physical pain.
Andrew thought I meant house elves, but I was thinking of shoemakers’ elves
Over the course of our four years of sharing a home, it has come to light that Andrew and I have different tolerance levels for clutter. We’re both fine with a base clutter level of about 2 on a scale of 1 to 10. You know, the level where, when you walk into our home, you know that no one will mind if you leave your bag on the dining room table and kick your shoes off in the hall. I am comfortable with this level because I find a perfectly organized and put-away home a tiny bit unnerving. I don’t like feeling nervous that I might accidentally leave a magazine slightly askew.
But whatever the underlying psychology, I am OK with some clutter. Some clutter does not bother me. What does bother me are ten pairs of shoes scattered around the house, piles of clothes on top of the dressers, and not being able to see the surface of the dining room table. These things bother Andrew as well, but my tolerance reaches the “We have to clean up this mess or I am going to set fire to everything we own so that it will at least stop cluttering up the living room” stage while Andrew is still resting comfortably at the “Gee, the house is sort of messy” stage.
For the record, I am in no way blaming Andrew for the clutter. Even though I have a lower clutter tolerance, at least half of the shoes are mine. (I am capable of closing cabinets and drawers, however, a skill Andrew mysteriously lacks.) This is why Andrew and I are equally astonished at the recent change in our situation.
You see, last week I got fed up and put away all the clothes in the bedroom and then cleaned off the rest of the stuff from the dresser tops and then DUSTED. I KNOW. On a roll, I also cleared off the dining room table and sorted all of the mail in the house. Thus inspired, Andrew got the pantry cleaned up. We should take a minute here to give him some props, because the pantry was in such a horrible state that I was completely overwhelmed by it and chose just to shut the door and pretend it wasn’t there.
When we were finished, we discussed how nice it felt to have a mostly organized home and how, now that the clothes were being stored inside the dressers instead of on top of them, it was no longer stressful to walk into the bedroom. And so we decided to keep things this way. No more dropping our dirty clothes on the floor, no more plopping our clean clothes on the bed to “put away later.” No. From this point on, we were going to put away our shoes and clothes every night. No exceptions!
It’s been over a week, and, surprisingly, our dressers are as tidy as they have ever been. Naturally, we are amazed that we have been sticking to our plan, but we are astonished, simply astonished, at how little effort is involved. We are two intelligent people, and yet we had no idea that all we had to do to keep a tidy room was take one extra minute before bed and put our clothes away.
We thought we needed elves.
But whatever the underlying psychology, I am OK with some clutter. Some clutter does not bother me. What does bother me are ten pairs of shoes scattered around the house, piles of clothes on top of the dressers, and not being able to see the surface of the dining room table. These things bother Andrew as well, but my tolerance reaches the “We have to clean up this mess or I am going to set fire to everything we own so that it will at least stop cluttering up the living room” stage while Andrew is still resting comfortably at the “Gee, the house is sort of messy” stage.
For the record, I am in no way blaming Andrew for the clutter. Even though I have a lower clutter tolerance, at least half of the shoes are mine. (I am capable of closing cabinets and drawers, however, a skill Andrew mysteriously lacks.) This is why Andrew and I are equally astonished at the recent change in our situation.
You see, last week I got fed up and put away all the clothes in the bedroom and then cleaned off the rest of the stuff from the dresser tops and then DUSTED. I KNOW. On a roll, I also cleared off the dining room table and sorted all of the mail in the house. Thus inspired, Andrew got the pantry cleaned up. We should take a minute here to give him some props, because the pantry was in such a horrible state that I was completely overwhelmed by it and chose just to shut the door and pretend it wasn’t there.
When we were finished, we discussed how nice it felt to have a mostly organized home and how, now that the clothes were being stored inside the dressers instead of on top of them, it was no longer stressful to walk into the bedroom. And so we decided to keep things this way. No more dropping our dirty clothes on the floor, no more plopping our clean clothes on the bed to “put away later.” No. From this point on, we were going to put away our shoes and clothes every night. No exceptions!
It’s been over a week, and, surprisingly, our dressers are as tidy as they have ever been. Naturally, we are amazed that we have been sticking to our plan, but we are astonished, simply astonished, at how little effort is involved. We are two intelligent people, and yet we had no idea that all we had to do to keep a tidy room was take one extra minute before bed and put our clothes away.
We thought we needed elves.
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