Ridiculous things on my mind:
First of all, on my sister’s behalf, I’m really annoyed with companies that do layoffs three weeks before Christmas. It seriously couldn’t have waited until Dec. 27?! But props to her for settling in with Christmas movies and making gingerbread houses with the baby; when I was unemployed I BeDazzled a cell phone with rhinestones and Krazy Glue and drank a lot. She’s being festive AND productive and I’m sure things will turn around soon.
Second, my wonderful husband is making a Traveling Monkeys mascot!! He is using this DIY sock monkey kit. It was supposed to be for my birthday but he originally ordered the “sewing machine required” kit instead of the “lazy ass pre-sewn” kit, so there’s been a delay. However, I am feeling the need to whip up a pair of shorts for the little monkey. See in that website’s banner how the heel of the sock is the monkey’s bottom? And how that heel is bright red?! I’m not quite prepared to have a monkey with bleeding hemmorhoids be our mascot, so we’ll have to cover that. We’re still deciding on a name. I like Roscoe, Tom likes Gobias. I think that means he likes “Arrested Development” a wee bit too much.
Third, I hate cleaning the bathroom. I hate it less than other domestic tasks, so in our marriage this is the one job that’s more or less fallen to me. That’s because I will ignore piles of clutter in the living room or dishes in the sink, convinced that I can simply ignore them into nonexistence. Since I like to take baths and up until recently was spending a lot of time with my head hanging over a toilet bowl, a cleanish bathroom is higher on my priority list. Anyway, I hate that our bathroom doesn’t have a window or an exhaust fan or a vent of any kind, and so I am stuck using fume-free cleansers. I’m as ecologically minded as the next yuppie, but there’s nothing like Clorox spray cleaner for the tub-potty one-two and I can’t use it because there’s nowhere for the fumes to go except into my lungs, poisoning me and my child. (If it were just me, I might not care, but I’d at least like to pretend I’m a conscientous parent.) So it goes that I end up on my hands and knees with a non-toxic mix of vinegar, baking soda, and peppermint/tea-tree oil soap and cursing my little family’s propensity toward shedding body hair in such quantities. ESPECIALLY all those little hair stubs left from Tom’s weekly scalping and the morning fistful I remove before showering so the drain won’t clog. (It clogs anyway.)
The upside to this was that today, trying to reach behind the toilet with a hand-held Swiffer cloth and scrubbing the tracks to the shower doors (my deep loathing for shower doors on tracks deserves its own post), I realized that I don’t have to do this much longer. I’m two, maybe three cleanings away from the day where hitting my knees and bending to scrub the tub or get behind the toilet is going to be halted by the belly I’m now sporting. We’ve moved from “possibly pregnant or maybe just a big lunch” to “yep, definitely pregnant.” And the baby even allowed Tom to feel a kick.
So, three ridiculous things and two upsides. The weekend wasn’t all bad.