Tag Archives: Narnia

Laundry…the Never-Ending Story

My Never-Ending Story

When I was a kid daydreaming about fighting battles, they usually took place in Narnia.  And I won.  A lot.  The battle I wage today (and every day of my adult life) is against laundry.  Unlike fighting against the White Witch, or against Uncle Miraz, this battle is completely futile.  I’m pretty sure I’m never going to win, and I’m (mostly) okay with that.

I just wish I could exterminate my Creepy Crawly Sock Monster once and for all.  Because of his insatiable and varied appetite, I currently have thirteen widowed socks living in my dryer.  Seriously.  I’m thinking of starting a Lonely Socks Club.  Our motto could be “Clean, single, and looking for a mate.”  Are you a grey sock with chartreuse stars sized 12-24 months?  We may have someone just for you!

I did nine loads of laundry this weekend.  I wasn’t particularly behind or anything when I started that evolution, but yesterday was Sheets Day, which always takes longer than I think that it’s going to take…for a couple of reasons.

In the first place, Oldest sleeps with about six blankets and at least five large stuffed animals, along with his sheets, pillowcase and pillow.  When I do the whole kit and kaboodle, his bed usually adds up to a little more than two loads all by itself. The rest of his third load was comprised of the sheets and pillowcases from my bed.  Yesterday was also Down Day, where my comforter and pillows each got their own respective loads…and because they are delicate creatures, the drying process is massively extended.  Like a lot.  When I finished those five (?!!) loads, I took one look at the growing pile of laundry and decided to wait on the babies’ bedclothes until I was able to carve a sizable dent in Mount Washmore.  And then I looked at the clock and realized with mounting dread that Mound Washmore wasn’t getting carved anymore that day.

Have I mentioned that typically I do at least one load of laundry every day of the week?  Because in my house, if you miss a day of laundry, you’re suddenly a week behind.  Anyway.

When I started back up this afternoon, the prospect wasn’t too grim.  And then I realized that sorting had to happen.  I had a load that contained nothing but two jersey maternity dresses and a maxi skirt, because apparently, they are the only clothes I have in those colors and with that particular set of fabric care instructions.  I had a load of mostly reds and another of mostly whites or whitish garments.  Normally, they’d have gone in together and I’d have used one of those cool little color catcher sheet thingies, but these reds were mostly new and I didn’t want to risk turning the whites pink.  I keep telling my husband that pink is just light red, but he doesn’t buy it.  The ninth load was the normal accumulation of clothing for Saturday, plus the green-tinged clothes from Grass Day.

I got everything folded/hung and put away after dinner and was about to indulge in a happy dance…when I looked in the corner by the washing machine and found a towel that somehow missed its load.

And then discovered a trail of tiny shorts and T-shirts leading to the bathroom, where two happy babies splashed in the tub.

And then found a heap of dirties in Oldest’s room after he got ready for bed.

And then I treated a stain or two on my husband’s shirt and mine.  (Newest Baby always gets spots in the same place…whether I’m wearing an apron to protect us or not.  Poor guy.  Poor Momma.)

Missed it by that much.  At least the first load for tomorrow is pretty much ready to go.

And I totally earned the No-Bake Lime Cheesecake from Nikki at Chef in Training that I made as a reward for myself tonight.  You should really check it out.  I saw her post yesterday on Facebook, and the picture alone was scrumptious enough to have me dreaming about it throughout my entire epic laundry adventure.  It’s light and fluffy instead of thick and, well, cheesy.  It’s not sickeningly sweet, either, which is my normal gripe with cheesecake.  The lime gives it a teensie push into the tart zone that is crazy awesome.  My cute little family loved it, too.  Baby cried when his bites were gone, and Hubs and Oldest brainstormed about other flavors that I should try the next time.  Like orange, cherry, raspberry, lemon and grape.  You got it, guys.


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Defying Gravity

Before We Begin…

…I would just like to point out that this post is not paying homage to the epic Broadway musical Wicked, even though it happens to be one of my absolute all-time favorites.  Moving on…

I have never been the type of girl to push the “I believe!” button.  Even my first word evidenced my tendency to question those things that should be taken at face value.  I believe in finding things out for myself.

Just to let y’all know, gravity works.  I’ve tested it many times in the hopes that I’ve finally discovered its Kryptonite.  Alas, I do believe that it is my own natural weakness…my Achilles heel…constantly lurking in the wings of my life to try to sabotage my every move.

To quote Cameron Diaz, “I’ve been noticing gravity since I was very young.”  My early attempts at umbrella-powered flight were always thwarted.  I learned that falling backwards off of my swing in midair hurt.  A lot.  Every pair of jeans and Little L’eggs tights had holes in their knees thanks to that unseen force…and my pink Huffy bike and Fisher Price roller skates.

However, I am fairly certain that my propensity for gravity-related mishaps greatly increased as soon as I turned 13.  I hated being 13.  Yes, I could dangle my teen status over my younger sister’s head, but she was still taller than me so she was less than impressed.  I fell off the stage at my piano recital that year.  Now that I’m older, such an event wouldn’t phase me all that much.  But at 13, I wanted nothing more than to be whisked away into Narnia by Prince Caspian and Queen Susan’s horn as soon as it happened.  There was no reason for me to rush back.  I could even die fighting at the Battle of Beruna.  Sure, my lifeless body would probably shock and sadden my family, but at least I wouldn’t have died of embarrassment.

Unfortunately, no otherworldly call came for me that day.  Or the day that I performed a magnificent swan dive over a chair in a very crowded space, resulting in a broken wrist that sported a hot purple cast for 6 months, and quite possibly the most ridiculous salute ever immortalized in a girl’s Junior Sailor of the Year award photo ever.  Or the day that I dropped a 150-pound computer on myself.  I could go on (and on and on), but why belabor the point?

One day, I will catch Gravity while it’s slacking on its coffee break, and at that moment, I will become free of my nemesis.  Until that glorious day, I can rest easy, knowing in my heart that I am keeping sundry medical personnel and the manufacturers of first aid and cleaning suppliers gainfully employed.

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