Possumblog

So, what was it again that I did this weekend?

Well, I can tell you this--I didn’t do any yardwork. The grass has slowed down enough that even with two week’s worth of growth, it looked okay. Actually, probably better than it would have if I’d actually cut it, since it looked thick and green, as opposed to brown with big swirly blade marks across it. SO, that was good.

INSIDE?

That was a different story. I could have used a lawnmower. That’s really not true--even though I wound up staying up until midnight in order to finish up the mopping chore, I kept thinking through most of the morning that it didn’t actually seem nearly as bad as I thought. Then I remembered sometime in there that the last major cleaning for Ashley’s birthday party was actually a much more involved ordeal.

First round, pick up all the loose toys in the den and give them to the kids, throw away bits of paper with cryptic game codes and various scores written on them, stack up craft materials, put away DVDs and videotapes. Second round was cleaning the same things off of the stairs. Third round was cleaning up the same things out of the dining room. Filthy little children.

The next steps were assisted by Catherine, who ran around the ground floor with the big lambswool duster, getting various cobwebs off of the ceilings and lamps and knocking all the dust down onto the furniture. At least she didn’t knock the lamps onto the furniture.

Next up, the loathsome vacuum cleaner. I hate the vacuum, but apparently this makes me the only person who is allowed to use it. Vacuum, vacuum, vacuum. Gosh, vacuuming sucks. Got all that mess done, and it got around lunchtime. Or past.

Ate a quick lunch, and calculated my timing--let’s see--2:30, then clean kitchen, then go to grocery store, then fix snacks for tomorrow, then mop. Plenty of time. (Said the moron.)

After lunch, started in cleaning the kitchen, while Catherine was given a dust cloth and Pledge and told to dust the wooden things. I think she did. Or not. Anyway, who cares about that--I had the kitchen to organize. First round, pick up all the loose toys on the table and give them to the kids, throw away bits of paper with cryptic game codes and various scores written on them, stack up craft materials, put away DVDs and videotapes. And old packages of cookies that got buried. One was a Keebler Soft Batch chocolate chip cookie pack, with only one eaten out of it.

Hmm.

I walked over to the garbage can with it, but out of curiosity decided to peek inside, expecting bugs or furry gray. You will be happy to know that through the marvels of modern chemistry, the Soft Batch cookies were still nice and pliable, and didn’t have even a hint of mold. And they still smelled like chocolate cookies. I wonder… What are they, two? Four months old? Could they still taste like… I mean, they LOOK fine. And they were hidden under a protective layer of schoolwork papers. Be good for blog fodder, wouldn’t it?

Nah.

Too old even for me.

Went on and kept at it and after a pretty good amount of time, the kitchen counters and oven and microwave and toaster and everything else was nice and shiny. Moved the table out to the den, and it was ready for the last round of things--fixing and mopping.

BUT FIRST--Rebecca needed a pair of shoes. Her little suede clogs had gotten ruined at the football game a couple of weeks ago when someone poured out a whole cup of Coke on her feet, so Reba, figuring that a day that should be devoted to cleaning up needed a break in the middle to go buy shoes, even though shoes can be bought anytime, while cleaning could ONLY be done on Saturday, decided to go take her to the shoe store. BUT. If she was at the shoe store, that meant I couldn’t go to Sam’s and get luncheon supplies, because although we do have a sixteen year old in the house, she is entirely incapable of sitting for even the shortest amount of time and keeping an eye on a nine- and a twelve-year old set of siblings. Meaning, I would either have to wait until Reba returned from the shoe store--which could take years (and it was already now 6 pee em), or take Catherine and Jonathan with me and Reba could go off to do whatever she needed to do.

Obviously, despite the peril, the kids came with me. They actually were pretty good, other than needing to be able to touch everything, and the constant competition to see who could be the one to provide the motive force for the buggy. Got a big pile of stuff, some of which was stuff we actually needed, and headed back to the house. And yes, despite the fact that you would think a warehouse store would have everything, there were still a couple of things that could only be purchased from a regular old grocery store, MEANING, that after we’d unloaded the trunk, I had anther trip to make.

::sigh::

Went to Target so I could check out the digital cameras for a certain girl’s upcoming birthday, and got light bulbs, and looked for a toilet seat. Did you know Target doesn’t have toilet seats anymore? I didn’t. The little pot in the powder room downstairs had metal screws and such, and the constant dousing with CLR ate them up into black rusty powder, so it needed a new one, lest a male guest be dismayed to find rusty black powder under the rim. Yeah, I know--like a guy would lift the seat--it’s really more because I figure there’d be someone who needed to know just how clean everything was.

BUT, it was not to be--so if anyone looked, I’m sorry it was icky looking. I’d suggest you not look anymore.

Home, right around 8:30 or so, moved the table back into the kitchen because I’d neglected to understand that fixing the food would require more flat surface than just the countertops. Got a chair, sat, helped do food (and thank goodness, Reba had only taken just a little while at the store, so she’s already gotten going on it). Decided to do fingery foods--some little pinwheel turkey and cream cheese sandwiches, some sausage rolls, taquitos, chips--anything that was small and easily eaten, AND something that was hard to take apart. Kids are beasts, and making anything like a BIG sandwich is an invitation for them to pull out something from the middle they sorta like, then toss the rest away. Small stuff allows them to get one, and if they don’t like it, it’s not as big of a waste. Obviously, I’m speaking of other kids--our kids have been forced to eat enough of things that they started tearing apart that they know once they’ve committed, that’s IT. It worked pretty well, only saw one of the sausage rolls that had the innards eaten away and the flaky croissant crust thrown away. Silly goobers.

ANYWAY, fixed the foods, got them stowed away in the fridge, sent Reba upstairs, and got out the mop and bucket. As I said, this whole operation was over by midnight.

In between all the fussbudgetry, Reba got the laundry done, Jonathan found his missing Scout patch, we managed to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner (of sorts), the house got more or less cleaned up (including the upstairs bathroom, which Rebecca cleaned), we made enough food to feed several armies, and I got to listen to the Auburn game.

And then, there was Sunday…

Posted by Terry Oglesby at September 25, 2006 10:55 AM