I had a pile of my husband’s shirts that came out of the laundry a little more wrinkled than normal. It might have something to do with having sat in the dryer overnight. But, who knows? Maybe the wrinkle fairly came and had a party on hubby’s shirt.
So, since the kids are out of school and I have a little extra time on my hands (because I don’t have to drive them all over the country), I decided to iron his shirts rather than just throw them back in the washer.
I got out my ironing board and found the iron. It still had a little water in it, so I plugged it in and waited for it to heat up. With Christmas music blaring and kids happily cleaning upstairs, I got to ironing all of the wrinkles out of his shirt, feeling very domestic. It probably took me a good five minutes for one shirt. I pulled it off expecting it to look wonderful. It didn’t. So, I tried another shirt, and then another, all with the same result. At some point (about 30 minutes of ironing later), that old adage about doing the same thing over and over popped into my brain.
I think my iron is faulty. I texted my husband with my conclusion and he thought my phone had been hijacked and wanted to know who was texting him. Because he knows his wife, and she doesn’t iron, she puts clothes in a bag on the front porch for the dry cleaning man.
This is why we dry clean.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
My first day
Today was my first day to sub for our elementary school although I’ve racked up loads of volunteer time. I’ve only subbed at the preschool prior to this.
I have to admit that I was a bit nervous about how the day would go. Would the kids behave? Could I get everything done? Could I count to 22 all day long? Well, the day went great for me.
My bladder? Not so much.
While staying at home, or working from home, or even when I worked in an office, I could go to the bathroom whenever the need struck, which for my pea-sized bladder, it strikes fairly often.
So, you can imagine my dismay when I looked at my schedule to see that I would have to wait four whole hours without even the POSSIBILITY of a bathroom break!
We recently went to see our family for Thanksgiving. They live four hours away and we had to stop twice for potty breaks. Not for my eight-year-old, not for my five-year-old, but for me – both times. My boys LOVE driving with me.
I’m not really sure what happened, because before I had kids (Yes, I am blaming them. No, I am not above it, or ashamed about it.) I could go for hours and hours without having to stop.
So, I’m contemplating this whole four hour thing and thinking, “wow, it’s really hot in here.” I broke out into a sweat over the whole bathroom situation. So, finally, after morning announcements, attendance, running club (don’t ask), reading to the kids, circle time (we called it something else and I’m still used to subbing at the preschool so whatever), some writing activities, two, count them TWO bathroom breaks for the kids, but not for me, I take my kiddos down to lunch and then I’m off to find a potty.
I stop at the ONLY adult bathroom in the ENTIRE school (a school for 1000 kids I might add) and someone is friggin in there!!! CRAP! They have no clue that I’m about to wet my pants, and going home and changing my clothes, is so NOT in my scheduled 20 minute lunch time (I had to make sure the kids got to where they are going and all – I’m sure I probably didn’t need to do that, but it was my first time). So, I politely knock. No one answers. I’m trying to decide whether to break down the damn door or call 911, when our receptionist happens to walk by. So, I ask, “Her Name, are these the only bathrooms?”
Luckily, they weren’t. They have two hidden bathrooms that are secret for people who work there and I (yes, I) got to use one. I felt honored and relieved to get to go.
I have to admit that I was a bit nervous about how the day would go. Would the kids behave? Could I get everything done? Could I count to 22 all day long? Well, the day went great for me.
My bladder? Not so much.
While staying at home, or working from home, or even when I worked in an office, I could go to the bathroom whenever the need struck, which for my pea-sized bladder, it strikes fairly often.
So, you can imagine my dismay when I looked at my schedule to see that I would have to wait four whole hours without even the POSSIBILITY of a bathroom break!
We recently went to see our family for Thanksgiving. They live four hours away and we had to stop twice for potty breaks. Not for my eight-year-old, not for my five-year-old, but for me – both times. My boys LOVE driving with me.
I’m not really sure what happened, because before I had kids (Yes, I am blaming them. No, I am not above it, or ashamed about it.) I could go for hours and hours without having to stop.
So, I’m contemplating this whole four hour thing and thinking, “wow, it’s really hot in here.” I broke out into a sweat over the whole bathroom situation. So, finally, after morning announcements, attendance, running club (don’t ask), reading to the kids, circle time (we called it something else and I’m still used to subbing at the preschool so whatever), some writing activities, two, count them TWO bathroom breaks for the kids, but not for me, I take my kiddos down to lunch and then I’m off to find a potty.
I stop at the ONLY adult bathroom in the ENTIRE school (a school for 1000 kids I might add) and someone is friggin in there!!! CRAP! They have no clue that I’m about to wet my pants, and going home and changing my clothes, is so NOT in my scheduled 20 minute lunch time (I had to make sure the kids got to where they are going and all – I’m sure I probably didn’t need to do that, but it was my first time). So, I politely knock. No one answers. I’m trying to decide whether to break down the damn door or call 911, when our receptionist happens to walk by. So, I ask, “Her Name, are these the only bathrooms?”
Luckily, they weren’t. They have two hidden bathrooms that are secret for people who work there and I (yes, I) got to use one. I felt honored and relieved to get to go.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Eight-year-old goes to the ballet
Today, my third grader went with a bunch of other third graders to see the Nutcracker. Just so you know, the Nutcracker ballet is one of my all-time favorites. It conjures up memories of me in a frilly taffeta skirt, patent leather shoes, and a pretty, frilly white shirt with my hair all curly and in bows. It gives me that same magical feeling you get when you go to Disney World. So, I always dreamed of taking my children with me to the ballet to enjoy this wonderful form of art.
So, naturally, I was a bit peeved, and more than a little jealous, when I discovered that the third grade field trip would be to one of my favorite ballets, and that they didn’t need any chaperones. In a 20 minute speech, I told my eight-year-old son how privileged he was to get to go and how much I love it.
This morning dawned nice and cold – perfect for my son to dress up in stuff that usually makes him hot and whiney. I sent my darling off and wondered during his time on the school bus if he was anticipating the magic that would happen on stage. I glanced at the clock later and knew that he was watching a beautiful performance and hoped that he could follow the story. Then it came time for me to pick him and some neighbor kids up from school.
“How was the play guys?” I ask.
An eight-year-old’s critique: “It was boring. And the guys wore tights!” Lots of giggling from boys and girls, and I’m thinking “Oh, great, what are they gonna say about what they saw in the guys’ tights?” And, I wait for it as the giggling dies down enough for them to speak. “ The guys wore tights, and you could see their butt cracks!”
A car full of kids erupts in laughter. And that is what an eight-year-old thinks of my favorite ballet. Oh, well, I guess I didn’t really want an eight-year-old that was cultured anyway. Then I was told that they looked like little Lego people on stage.
So, naturally, I was a bit peeved, and more than a little jealous, when I discovered that the third grade field trip would be to one of my favorite ballets, and that they didn’t need any chaperones. In a 20 minute speech, I told my eight-year-old son how privileged he was to get to go and how much I love it.
This morning dawned nice and cold – perfect for my son to dress up in stuff that usually makes him hot and whiney. I sent my darling off and wondered during his time on the school bus if he was anticipating the magic that would happen on stage. I glanced at the clock later and knew that he was watching a beautiful performance and hoped that he could follow the story. Then it came time for me to pick him and some neighbor kids up from school.
“How was the play guys?” I ask.
An eight-year-old’s critique: “It was boring. And the guys wore tights!” Lots of giggling from boys and girls, and I’m thinking “Oh, great, what are they gonna say about what they saw in the guys’ tights?” And, I wait for it as the giggling dies down enough for them to speak. “ The guys wore tights, and you could see their butt cracks!”
A car full of kids erupts in laughter. And that is what an eight-year-old thinks of my favorite ballet. Oh, well, I guess I didn’t really want an eight-year-old that was cultured anyway. Then I was told that they looked like little Lego people on stage.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
News Flash: I'm going to get REALLY old!
So, I had some lab work done and my doctor informed me that I’m going to live to be a hundred!
Wow! That is OLD. Although I wasn’t entirely surprised considering how long my great-grandmother and great-great grandmother lived (yes, I was privileged enough to get to know them both). But, to actually hear those words come out of my doctor’s mouth was a little surprising. He may have been exaggerating a little, but hey, who cares?
So, that puts my expiration date around 2076. If I’m going to get that old, then I expect science to make some advances in the last two-thirds of my lifetime.
We need a permanent fix to graying hair. After all, I can’t spend my whole retirement on getting my hair done. And, for those of you keeping track, I’m already retired. Yes, I know, I have a sweet life. Don’t you wish you could retire in the first third of your life?
Second, after watching my grandmothers, they really need to do something about arthritis. What good is it going to do me if I live to be 100, and can’t put on my jewelry, or write these wonderful posts?
Third, also after seeing my grandmothers, you have to do something about that whole hunched over thing. I’m already short at a whopping 5’1”. I’m pretty sure they don’t make cute clothes with a hump in your back. It’s hard enough finding clothes to fit as it is.
Fourth, you REALLY need to get cracking on this whole Alzheimer’s thing. Who cares if you’ve seen a century’s worth of innovation if you can’t remember how to walk in heels?
Fifth, you need to do something about heart disease. Hubby’s response to the news was “Wow, that’s great honey.” Quickly followed by “I guess that means you’re going to have a second or third husband.” But, really, how could I ever live without my wonderful, sweet, charming husband? Gag. Yes, well, maybe next time I’ll marry for money. Love you honey!
So, here’s to science and hoping they can learn to make cute shoes that don’t hurt your feet! Get crackin’ guys!
Wow! That is OLD. Although I wasn’t entirely surprised considering how long my great-grandmother and great-great grandmother lived (yes, I was privileged enough to get to know them both). But, to actually hear those words come out of my doctor’s mouth was a little surprising. He may have been exaggerating a little, but hey, who cares?
So, that puts my expiration date around 2076. If I’m going to get that old, then I expect science to make some advances in the last two-thirds of my lifetime.
We need a permanent fix to graying hair. After all, I can’t spend my whole retirement on getting my hair done. And, for those of you keeping track, I’m already retired. Yes, I know, I have a sweet life. Don’t you wish you could retire in the first third of your life?
Second, after watching my grandmothers, they really need to do something about arthritis. What good is it going to do me if I live to be 100, and can’t put on my jewelry, or write these wonderful posts?
Third, also after seeing my grandmothers, you have to do something about that whole hunched over thing. I’m already short at a whopping 5’1”. I’m pretty sure they don’t make cute clothes with a hump in your back. It’s hard enough finding clothes to fit as it is.
Fourth, you REALLY need to get cracking on this whole Alzheimer’s thing. Who cares if you’ve seen a century’s worth of innovation if you can’t remember how to walk in heels?
Fifth, you need to do something about heart disease. Hubby’s response to the news was “Wow, that’s great honey.” Quickly followed by “I guess that means you’re going to have a second or third husband.” But, really, how could I ever live without my wonderful, sweet, charming husband? Gag. Yes, well, maybe next time I’ll marry for money. Love you honey!
So, here’s to science and hoping they can learn to make cute shoes that don’t hurt your feet! Get crackin’ guys!
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