After four and a half days of NOT being in school, the kids are now back in school. Like Jeff, the girls allow their bodies to shut down on holiday weekends. It’s almost as if they store up the germs and release them the second they step off of the bus onto the edge of a long weekend. I checked the calendar, and Meredith was sick all through the Presidents’ Day weekend last year. This year she and Harper were both sick. Every time Jeff takes a mini-vacation from work, he ends up sprawled out on the bed listening to me yell things like, “You should call work and TELL THEM TO SWITCH THIS FROM VACATION TO SICK BECAUSE THIS IS *NO* VACATION!!!” (I’m a joy to be around when people are ailing.)
Here I sit with a looming deadline, a butter toffee coffee (that’s what I said) in my hand, and an ear bent toward the door so I can listen for the mattress man. About a week ago, Jeff and I spent an hour walking around a large room filled with beds. We lied down. We stood up and walked to the next bed. We suddenly felt the need to lie down again. The other customers in the store were also lying down and standing up and walking a few steps only to become exhausted once more. I started laughing The Laugh of No Sound and singing the opening theme from Koyaanisqatsi as we all napped, arose, took a few steps, and napped again.
(Meredith eventually killed the joy by asking, “What if someone in this room has lice?” With that, our bed hopping came to a screeching halt.)
In the mattress store, I learned that I enjoy sleeping on a firm bed. A VERY firm bed. Jeff learned to appreciate the adage from that old cross-stitch sampler that states, “If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” We put in our order for an Honorable Firm, and here I sit. Waiting for the delivery. I have a three hour window and a sweet potato in the oven.
Wait a second. I have huge news! Do you remember when we moved into this house (nine years ago) and I said something like, “The house is good, except for the pink carpeting in the family room and hallway. The pink carpeting has to go.” Every six months or so (for the past NINE YEARS) I have harumphed onto the couch and complained that the pink carpeting is so disgusting and I really wish we could DO something about it. (It’s easy for me to sit on the couch and complain about how things need to be done. Don’t get me started.) The pink carpeting has prevented me from inviting people over. The pink carpeting tells me I’m a terrible mother. The pink carpeting does not allow me to lose weight at the rate I desire. The pink carpeting steals socks. The pink carpeting sucks joy. The pink carpeting does not share my political beliefs. The pink carpeting listens to Celine Dion.
For the past nine years (!!!) we have lived not knowing what was under the pink carpeting. We suspected wood, but we also suspected urine or blood stains. (Why else would someone cover wood with pink carpeting?!) On Saturday morning, Jeff went to the hardware store and purchased a few utility knives.
A few minutes later, we saw this:
Wood! AND, it’s not ugly! In fact, it’s lovely! Jeff spent the entire day cutting and ripping and waiting to unveil a huge blood/urine stain, but there was no blood or urine to be found! (If you start your day anticipating an unpleasant discovery of blood/urine and no blood/urine is to be discovered? THAT is a good day. A *crazy* good day! I’m now planning on beginning ALL of my days with the anticipation of unpleasant blood/urine. If it happens, it’s no surprise. If it doesn’t? Hallelujah chorus!)
You might look at this floor and think that it needs refinishing or resomethinging. I look at this floor and suddenly the Ugh! of the past nine years has been lifted! No more Celine Dion! The pounds are rolling off! I’m a good mother who provides complete pairs of socks! I’m a bleeding heart liberal with a wooden floor! (Gasp!)
Nothing but happy songs today at The Pudding House.