Breathing hard.
Why?
Is my hubby nibbling on my ear?
No.
Did I just jog five miles like I know I should?
Nope.
Am I making prank phone calls again?
Sorry, but no.
I am in the throes of SUPER HOUSE CLEANING>
Yesterday I finished cleaning the bathroom/laundry room. Because that's what I love to do when I have a day off and the sun is shining and it's a balmy 70 degrees. Yep.
And whilst cleaning the bathroom/laundry room, I began to ponder the situation of my home.
Let me first preface this pondering by letting you in on the plans for the weekend. My lovely daughter and her lovely friend have decided to have a co-birthday party. At our house. They invited about 20 or so kids to camp over.
At our house.
Our house.
The one I reference every once in a while in this blog.
The one that is pretty much falling down around us.
Sigh.
Part of cleaning the laundry room entailed vacuuming the cobwebs out of the part of the ceiling that had to come down due to the excessive water leaking through it. I had to vacuum all around the knob and tube wiring to get rid of those unsightly webs.
Then I had to vacuum the loose plaster falling off the wall in the bathroom.
Did I mention I have 20 kids staying here this weekend?
My house is like a lazy old harlot. It lies about, exposing its privates to no one and everyone in particular.
What's that hole in the ceiling? Oh...um...it's the...eh-hem...drainpipe.
It doesn't matter what is on the schedule, something SOMETHING will always break shortly before the affair relsulting in the pulling down of walls, ceilings or whatever.
Why is there plastic on the dining room ceiling? Oh, well, the um...wastepipe was leaking. Yes, right through the ceiling onto the floor. Yes, it is gross, isn't it?
...or, just as likely...
Oh, you'd like to get a shower in the morning? Um...you wouldn't, by chance, happen to be a member of the Polar Bear Swim Club, would you?
20 kids.
So anyway, the cleaning of the laundry room part of the job entailed the washing and drying of a down comfortor, several blankets and several winter coats along with the regular laundry. Do you know how long it takes to dry a down comforter? Hmm? Do you? A looooooong time. This task alone is what determines just how much laundry you will get washed and dried throughout the rest of the day. It kind of goes like this:
Wash comforter.
Put comforter in drier.
Wash many other blankets.
Rearrange comforter in drier for another go round.
Rearrange comforter in drier for another go round.
Take many blankets out of washer and put in basket. Put winter coats in washer.
Rearrange comforter in drier for another go round.
Attend you great grandchild's wedding.
Put comforter in drier for another go round.
Etc.
Since it was a balmy day, I did get to put the other blankets on the line. But still...
Eventually the task was done along with some other minor items (removing and washing storm windows, going to the post office, painting a window, changing the litter box, folding other laundry, blah, blah, blah). BUT! It felt good to get that room to a state I like to call "Good Enough". No blankets/comforters/coats on the floor next to the washer waiting their turns, walls and floor washed, appliances wiped down, fresh litter box.
And while I'm on the subject of the litter box, can anyone tell me why, why in God's name, do the cats have to use it the very second it is cleaned? Hmm? I poured the remaining two cups of cat litter into the box and turned my back to get a new container of litter. By the time I got back to the box, one of the cats already peed in it. What bit of fresh litter in there was now a hard little clump sitting in the bottom of the box mocking me. Why do they have to do that? I mean, I like a clean toilet and everything but I'm not that fanatical about it.
Anyway...
I finished off the day with a nice long walk with hubby and collapsed into bed.
Until about...oh...4 o'clock this morning.
Hubby and I were snuggled under our comforter and afghan with visions of drywall dancing in our heads. The beagles were peacefully aslumber, curled up on the foot of the bed.And then...
Gurp.
Ohh...that bit of drywall didn't sound too good.
Gurp.
Maybe it's just the plumbing...
Gurp.
Could it be one of our contractors?
Gurp.
Is that Johnny Depp putting up my drywall? He doesn't sound so good...
Gurp, gurp...
As my foggy brain was coming to the disappointing realization that a slightly under the weather Johnny Depp was not, in fact, hanging nice, new drywall in my hallway, the horror of what the noise was started to sink in...
Gurp, gurp...
Come on all you animal lovers! You know this sound!
Gurp, gurp, gurp...
I began a frantic scramble from under the downy fluffieness of my comforter.
Gurp, gurp, gurp, gurp...
My toes got caught in the afghan. I flailed. I pulled. I tugged.
Gurp, gurp, gurp, gurp, gurp...
Finally I am free! My feet hit the floor and I ran to the end of the bed and...
Blaaap!
One of the bealges puked on the bed.
Let me just pause a moment in the story to impart some practical advice. If you are going to sleep with dogs...or cats, for that matter...an afghan is probably not the best thing to have as your first line of defense.
So as I sit here typing this, my laundry room floor now has on it: a mattress pad, a fitted sheet, a flat sheet, a blanket, a rather large afghan and, yes, another down comforter.
