This really wasn’t my weekend. This post is disjointed because I can’t figure out how to mesh all this stuff together but for the fact that it happened this weekend. Astute readers will also begin to understand why I talk so fast. No one in real life sticks around long enough to hear all of this.
Saturday Started out okay. I stained the sanded portions of the treads and primed the walls. While I was at it,
I was taking a load of darks that Mr. Unreserved had washed out of the dryer. = Before I go on, I want to mention that I considered not even telling the internets about this because it’s gross, but it’s so gross I had to laugh; you’ll have to believe me when I say we normally run a tidy house and this was a weird anomaly =
So I was taking the dark clothes out of the dryer and something fell on the floor with a *plunk*. I figured I had left something in my pockets (not uncommon). I picked it up. It was a piece of poop. Dog poop. Tumble dried dog poop. I know I didn’t leave that in my pockets.
My first hope was that it really hadn’t fallen out of the drier. A sniff of the laundry revealed that it had. Also I have a head cold. I could smell the non-Downey aroma through the sinus congestion. Le sigh. So the laundry had to be rewashed, that much was a no-brainer. But how to clean out the inside of the drier? I scrubbed it out with Mr. Clean, soaked some dust rags in the Mr. Clean water and dried them on high for a while, then ran the drier some more until satisfied.
The burning question is how? Our dog does not, to the best of my knowledge, poop in the drier. The only thing we could figure is that she had an accident in the basement and it inadvertantly got mixed in with the dirty laundry while sorting. This is extra weird because she’s not allowed in the basement (but she could have crawled through the cat door when we weren’t home). That would mean the dropping(s) would have had to go through the wash first. Ew. I tried not to think any more about it once everything was decontaminated.
This morning we went to church (which reminds me of another story. . . more on that in a minute). I wore a black shirt . I wore a black bra under the black shirt. My bras don’t go in the drier. I still have a head cold, but it’s getting better (trust me, I’m going somewhere with this).
As I was lifting Claire out of her carseat after we got home, I noticed an odd smell. A bad sort of odd smell. I found the source of the smell when I changed out of the black bra. Apparently I wore a bra to church that had been washed with a bad sort of laundry ball.
We were at church this morning instead of seeing “Walking with Dinosaurs” even though a friend called at the last minute and offered us three tickets to the morning show that they unfortunately couldn’t use (stomach flu) because sometimes I’m bad at being a bad Catholic. I fully intend to succeed at it tomorrow by not attending the holy day of obligation. We did get to light the candles on the Advent wreath as a family. Claire was ticked that we didn’t light all four.
Claire’s foot is healing nicely from where she sliced it on broken glass. She and Anna manged to break the glass shade on their Tinker Bell lamp while I was priming the hallway. While I was tending her foot, Anna yelled, “I found another piece of glass!” I told her not to touch it. I went back upstairs and asked her where it was. She didn’t know. She had picked it up, see, and put it somewhere in her bed, and then she couldn’t find it. I’m sure many sensible people like to sleep with shards of broken glass in their beds, but I spoiled all the fun and washed all her bedding. In the very clean washer and drier.
Back to Saturday. I planned to make butternut squash soup for dinner. I had planned to do this weeks ago but never got the chance, and it was time to use up the squash. But the recipe I wanted was online (if I had planned better I would have printed it at some point). And the internet wasn’t working. I still don’t know why, but it came back so I dare not question it. Also our On Demand cable is behaving more like Off Demand (it has been “Available Shortly” for two days). The nice guy on the phone (I reached a human!) at the cable company tried to send signals to the box. Which it laughed at. He offered to send out a technician between 8:00 and 12:00 Sunday morning which wasn’t good for us because see above regarding church (but I still wish it was – giant robotic dinosaurs! – Rawr!). I’m still trying to figure out who needs cable so desperately that this is even a possibility. There’s something wrong with a world where the cable company will offer to come out the next morning within a four hour window, but Verizon will give you a ten hour window ten days from when your land line goes out. The soup wasn’t even very good.
Mr. Unreserved put up our Christmas lights. They’re very pretty. Last year we thought we’d get smart and put them on a timer because we hate going out in the cold to unplug them at night. The timer I found has preselected “on” times and it has a photo-eye that turns the lights on at dusk. If you position the lights anywhere near the timer (which is likely, given the power cord situation) they trick the photo-eye into thinking the sun has risen, at which point it helpfully shuts the lights off. The ensuing darkness makes the lights come back on again. The result is a very. slow. blink.
And now we get to the subject I intended to include when I started this post. When I planned the hallway project, I envisioned the walls in taupe. Yeah, I’m wild like that. Woo TAUPE! I found the most perfectest shade of taupe and lost the paint chip. So I collected every taupe paint chip from every manufacturer and once again found the shade I had envisioned (but I swear it wasn’t the same as the first one) and got two gallons of paint in “Cherry Blossom” and was very happy with it and even showed it to my mom (Hi
Then I went shopping for carpet runners for the stairs and found the local selection lacking and the special order ones outside of my price range and was thrilled to find one on the internet that is both beautiful and well within my price range and I ordered it and it came on Wednesday and looked exactly how I expected it would and life was fine.
And today I painted 50% of the hallway and decided that the taupe is all wrong. It’s not all wrong in and of itself (although its similarity to the color of Silly Putty was giving me pause), but it doesn’t work with the runner at all. The taupe is cool and the runner is warm. The runner is black and gold and sage and cranberry and tan. I could even take pictures of the wrongness and show you, but the camera still has water spots inside the lens from when Claire knocked it in the dog’s dish, and the Ritz Camera people want six weeks and enough money to buy a replacement camera to fix it (note to self – find other camera shop recommended by nice Ritz guy). And now, after months and months of agonizing over paint chips, and three hours spent painting, I have to pick another color. Which sucks. It sucks a really lot. I hate picking paint colors. I agonize and run all over creation collecting paint chips and pick the one that I swear is exactly what I’m looking for and put it on the walls and the doubting starts.
How much doubting? In 2002 I decided a few weeks before Christmas that the off-white that I had originally painted the living room was too yellow. I chose new beige paint. (there I am with the wild colors again!) I painted the living room. It was too dark. I got new, lighter beige paint. I painted half the living room (I do learn eventually). It was too light. (but I don’t learn how to pick paint colors) I mixed the two paints in a leftover kitty litter bucket and got the exact right shade of beige and was painting the living room for the third time the week before Christmas.
I ran out five minutes before dinner to get more paint chips from the local big box home improvement store so I can agonize over them and get back to painting. None of them seems right (because I’m still hung up on taupe). When I got home from the store, the underwire escaped from my bra (not the dog poo one) and stabbed me in the armpit.
I am toying with forcing asking Mr. Unreserved to pick the color this time (he has good taste, but not very strong opinions) so that when I decide it’s all wrong I can at least blame someone else.
People at work wonder how it is that I can like Mondays.