Blame It on the Oatmeal!

So sue me… I make oatmeal for breakfast for my boys when they ask for it.  It’s instant for Pete’s sake!  Could this be the explanation for all that’s wrong in the world?!    According to my husband, it is. 

When the boys don’t take out the trash without being asked have a fit about being told to take out the trash, it’s because I make them oatmeal; when they whine or act immature, it’s because I make them oatmeal; when they don’t appreciate what they have, it’s because I make them oatmeal; when they talk back, it’s because I make them oatmeal!

He’s so ridiculous!  Especially since every morning I do everything for him but physically dress him!  I gently and lovingly wake him up (read: NO annoying alarm), set out his clothes (from head to toe), pack a gym bag (that’s a whole other story), I make his coffee-by preheating the coffee pot and the coffee mug and using bottled water.  I pack a lunch bag (more like suitcase) with peeled hard-boiled eggs, a nutritional supplement drink, leftovers from the previous night’s dinner, and I finish with an escort to the car during which I carry the gym bag, lunch suitcase and coffee to the car, I give him a once-over and a kiss and send him on his way.  But I never make oatmeal for him.  Poor guy! 

Good thing he doesn’t know about the iced tea that I make for them from loose tea leaves!

My husband just doesn’t understand how I need to nurture my boys in this way while I can.  They blew by their toddler years so fast and tweendom is abruptly descending upon us.  I need to make more oatmeal before it’s too late. 

Well, in case you have any nurturing to do in your house, here’s the recipe for my oatmeal:

Nurturing Oatmeal (That May Be All That’s Wrong with the World)

1 packet organic, instant apple oatmeal

1 packet organic, instant maple brown sugar oatmeal

Approximately ¾ cup boiling water

¼ to ½ cup half and half

love

Monster in the House

There is a monster in my house.  It doubles in size each day, compounding into a treacherous, scary monster.  Actually, we all feed it- I, my husband, and both of our sons.  It doesn’t eat food, or animals.  It doesn’t eat plants, fruits or vegetables.  The monster is fearfully dubbed: Laundry. 

Every other month or so (okay so it’s more like twice a year), I get caught up on all the dirty laundry in my house.  It lasts for about six hours.  Before I know it, there are four hampers brimming with that monster again.  Somehow, a couple of shirts, pants, socks, and pajamas have morphed into what looks like that belonging to a family with quintuplets!  I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have another female in the house! 

I am criticized by my husband for my laundry separation methods.  I of course have the whites and the darks, but I also have loads that are strictly “white with print on it”, red (which allows its distant cousin, orange to join in), gray (which takes in yellows, light blues and light greens), jeans, and darks.  Don’t forget the body-touched towels, kitchen towels and floor cleaning cloths (I scrub the floors on my hands and knees-I don’t own a mop…but that’s another story all together!).  Oh, come on it makes perfect sense to have those subcategories. 

Oh yeah, I don’t own any laundry baskets either.  The clothes must be folded or hung as they come out of the dryer.   This eliminates the problem of having baskets of laundry sitting on the bed, sofa, floor, and not knowing if it is dirty or clean, or having to rummage through a basket of clean clothes to find a pair of socks.  Also, when the clothes get folded or hung right from the dyer, you have the opportunity to hand press the wrinkles out right then and there.  Okay, neurotic? Definitely; but it works!

 I subjected my husband to these rules of laundry right before we got married, when he was unemployed for a short time.  He had previously been forgiven the duty of laundry based on his color-blindness.  It seemed like a great excuse to keep my neurosis to myself.  He actually came through with shining colors!  It did have a way of taking the sting out of his unemployment.  It made me a little sad when he found another job so soon.

When the laundry turns into the uncontrollable monster, every other week or so, my husband puffs out his chest and bellows “show me how to sort the laundry and use the washer and dryer”.  I’m not sure if he actually plans on doing it or if he just knows me so well that he knows I won’t let him do it.  I do get satisfaction out of doing laundry.  And I like the way I fold it. 

You may be judging me on my overly neurotic color separation or the fact that I won’t allow my husband to generously lend a helping hand in taming the monster.  I can’t say that doesn’t bother me; just not enough to make me change my ways.   Don’t sit there so smugly; we all have dirty laundry!

Actually, I’m sure that this all stems from my childhood (doesn’t it all?!)  Growing up, all laundry could be found in clothes baskets.  It didn’t matter if it was clean or dirty, it was in a basket.  There were clean baskets and dirty baskets, but you couldn’t tell them apart unless you did a sniff test.  The clean clothes weren’t folded, just a rumpled mess. 

It may not come as a surprise to you now, that I DO NOT OWN ANY LAUNDRY BASKETS!!!!!  Nope, in my house, the clothes go from the hamper to the washer to the dryer to the drawer or closet.  No baskets needed!  It’s just that simple. 

Enough blogging, back to the monster…all of you!

Trailer Park Dreams

There are times when my husband and I actually fantasize about trading in the roomy house with nice yard, the beautiful landscaping and all that comes with it (read work and expense) for a… double-wide trailer.  We could live so fat!  It would be quite the palace.  We could furnish it with the best flooring, furniture and fixtures, and take lavish vacations.  We would live like celebrities!  No more working to pay the mortgage!  We could live free and clear and large!  How much closet space does one a double-wide trailer have?  Because I can now afford a seriously large and divine wardrobe.  Would it be strange to have restaurant quality appliances in a trailer?  Would there be room for a housekeeper?  And I suppose my husband would want to have that Ferrari parked in the… trailer garage???  Maybe we could buy an extra lot next door and get an in-ground pool?  I’m thinking that this kind of living large could really catch on.  Perhaps we can find a gated trailer park community?  You know, an elite trailer park.   Wait, Andy Cohen is calling; he wants to cast me in the Real Housewives of Trailer Parks! 

Getting to Know Me

The Christmas Tree

This tale is probably the best way to introduce myself and let you get a basic understanding of who I am. 

I leave my Christmas tree up longer than anyone else I know.  Not just a week or two longer.  No, more like a month or two longer than anyone else I know.  I’m talking the first weekend of February at the earliest.  Why?  It’s not a cultural or religious thing.  It’s not that I’m too exhausted from the holidays.  It’s not even that I’m too lazy.  I just love my tree.   Actually, it’s three trees.  There’s one in the living room, one in the dining room and one in the sun room.  I painstakingly decorate them.  It takes hours.  I can’t dismantle them just because their holiday is technically over.  Before you judge me think about this: I’ve seen houses more decked out for Valentine’s Day than for Christmas!  

I’ve had friends call claiming to be the neighborhood “Christmas tree police”.  They even had out-of-town friends call and harass us (me) about when the tree was coming down.  I have to tell you, this doesn’t bother me.  Last year, a friend of mine asked what I had done over the weekend (the first weekend of February, yes).   I told her she didn’t really want to know, but I told her anyway.  As you can imagine, she was surprised.

On the flip side, a friend of mine not only puts her tree up at the last minute (not Christmas Eve, but a few days before), she takes it down the day after Christmas most years.  When she’s feeling particularly festive, it stays up until the day after New Year’s Day.  Come to think of it, she doesn’t even put up her tree; her father does it for her!  Is this someone who I’m going to let tell me when to take down my tree?  No!

 One of the “Christmas tree police ‘officers’” is so scarred by his childhood Christmas tree that he still puts only white lights and a star on his tree.  No ornaments are allowed, because his (Jewish) step-mother put so much on the tree-including tons of tinsel.  I can understand parents who scar their children over things like eating liver or brussel sprouts, but not the Christmas tree!  It’s just wrong.

I guess now would be a good time to mention that only the actual Christmas trees and decorations might come down on that first weekend of February.  The “winter” decorations: pine trees, snowflakes, snowmen, etc., stay up until… March 21, the first day of spring of course! 

Last year, our trees came down on February 18.  That’s a month before the deadline!  However, for the first time, I had to dust the ornaments as I removed them from the trees.  I digress, that’s pretty bad.

This year, we skied every other weekend, so the trees didn’t get disassembled until the third weekend in March.  It was obvious that I control the universe a little bit, when the sun came out and the temperature soared to around seventy degrees! 

Most people don’t understand my enthusiasm for “winter decorating”.  I always say: “after the tree comes down, it’s just a long, boring, cold winter”.   So, when your tree is down, has been for weeks, and you’re bored and cold, drive by my house and see if my twinkling tree in the front picture window doesn’t warm you up and entertain you.