Speaking of Clean...

My friend was talking to me about his cousin who washes every load of laundry twice and changes the sheets and blankets of the beds in her house daily.  While he was talking, I was day-dreaming about how wonderful it would be to greet sleep wrapped in fresh-smelling sheets every single night of the week.  Somewhere in the background of my reverie, he said, "She's a raving neurotic."

So. Does this make me a raving neurotic wannabe?

Speaking of clean, I'm going to Michigan next week to stay with my daughter and her family for five full weeks.  During this time, I will be cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and playing with my grandson while we await the arrival of his baby brother.  Then the fun starts!  Sounds kind of perfect, right?

Why is it that I can get so much more done at someone else's house?  I think the reason is that there's less distraction.  The stuff isn't mine so I don't get knocked off-track so easily.  I'm not really sure though.  That's just a theory.

What does a toddler do when his mother is nine-month's pregnant?

Anything he wants to!

 

This time my work's cut out for me.

Win, win

After reading my last post, my daughters asked me to make a few clarifications.  Malibu Barbie wants you to know that she never dresses me.  Indian Princess Barbie says you will know if she's dressed me by whether I look good or not.  If I do, she did.  If not, then not.


Princess has a point.  Today, for example, I am wearing a (formerly) white tee shirt that my son-in-law intended for Goodwill and a pair of striped men's boxer shorts that at one time belonged to Malibu Barbie's boss.  I'm ashamed to admit that this is not even a low in wardrobe choices;  sometimes they are actually worse.  I know this because I have been looking at old photographs.  Talk about masochism!


I realized I've pretty much spent a lifetime looking frumpy, dowdy and generally wearing clothes that frankly weren't all that flattering.  Then I remembered:  I made a pact with myself when Princess was born that I wouldn't buy anything new until I got down to my pre-pregnancy weight.  My reasoning, I dimly recall, was along the lines of motivational. The thought was that I would inspire myself to lose those last few pounds faster. 


Well that was a dumb, dumb idea! Daughter is pushing twenty-three and I recently lost almost enough to get down to my highest weight during that pregnancy. About now would be a perfect time to admit defeat.  I could justify an entire new wardrobe with just that single sentence, one that will make me look like the hottie that is trapped inside me.  Except now I don't want anyone to see my wrinkly chest, my bat-wings or my chicken neck. 


So what I'm saying here is that I'm going to let vanity prohibit me from wearing more stylish clothes?  Isn't that the very same trap I set for myself originally?  Apparently these last few decades have taught me nothing. 
 
So, thank God Indian Princess got old enough to take charge of the situation!  Tomorrow she will be arriving for a week's visit.  She will probably take one look at me and drag me off shopping.  We will go directly from the airport to the mall.


She will get to do what she likes best (shopping) and I will get to do what I like best (spending time with her!)  So it's win, win. 


Ain't life grand?