My bathroom reeks of fruitiness. There are multiple fluffy robes hanging on the back of my bathroom door. I have plants hanging – hanging! – on my porch. There’s stuff in my shower that I can’t even identify – and a lot of it. There are curtains now and everything has been rearranged. I don’t know where to find anything anymore and I’ve been informed that I’m supposed to stay out of the kitchen – I don’t belong there.
Also, most of my stuff is crap and needs to be taken to the dumpster (by me, of course) whenever the pile at the back door warrants a trip.
Hannah Montana seems to always be playing somewhere in my house. Not just the show, the music. And not just in the house. It’s on Mommy’s iPod so we can listen to it in the truck, too. Suddenly picking songs on Daddy’s iPod in the truck isn’t great fun, it’s old news. Daddy’s iPod doesn’t have any Hannah Montana or Emily Osment. Mommy’s here with the good stuff.
My youngest daughter has informed me that I’m now outnumbered and the girls are in charge. In fact, she says, “Girls go to college to get more knowledge and boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.” (I’ll leave that irony to the reader and address it with her later. For now I just respond with “Boys rule and girls drool.”) I get no love around here anymore. Those cute little ones that used to crawl into my lap a couple times a day for Daddy hugs are now threatening to throw me out if I don’t shape up.
I thought we were getting Mommy back. Now I see that they were planning a coup. I just respond by telling them that if I don’t start getting the normal daily dose of hugs and love from them that I’m accustomed to, I’ll throw their mother out and when Mommy’s living in a box under a bridge it will be all their fault.
For the love of all that’s holy: I just broke the kitchen rule and went to make coffee… My prized Hamilton Beach Brew Station – the best thing I ever bought for my kitchen – smells like… like… Oh, God help me. The coffee maker smells like vanilla. Sure enough, after I got it cleansed and disinfected from all of the “girl” on it, I went to make coffee and there was some foil pouch of “Vanilla Biscotti blend” where my COFFEE is supposed to be! (Fortunately, I found actual coffee right next to it.)
On the flip side, I never cared much for the kitchen anyway. Also, not only have I not been going hungry lately, I’m eating better than I have in years.
I could do a whole separate post on that. That woman ain’t just eye candy in a kitchen. She’s a creative genius there. She concocts things on the fly that I would pay extra for in a restaurant. Most of what I eat these days has no name – “This is delicious, Baby. What is it?” (her laughing) “I dunno. Something I threw together. I just call it ‘My Mexican Chicken Shit.’ You really like it?” (What perplexes me is that she often does it just with stuff I already had here and makes it look easy.)
I have to admit the place looks a whole lot better, too… if you can block out all the yucky GIRL stuff everywhere. I only just now noticed that the coffee maker smells of vanilla because I haven’t made my own coffee in weeks. And I’ve never asked for coffee; it’s just been made by the coffee fairies while I sleep, I guess. It’s just there when I wake up, usually. Sometimes the fresh coffee smell is accompanied by the smell of frying bacon when my eyes open. (Bacon fairies? Who knows? No tellin’ what she had packed in all those boxes when she moved in.)
I complained to my mother about some of this girly infestation recently and she said, “You’re not foolin’ anybody. You LOVE it!”
She’s right. This briar patch is so awful. I demand that for all my sins and in the interest of justice, I be sentenced to remain here forever.
“When they carve my stone
All they need to write on it is
‘Once lived a man
Who got all he ever wanted.’
Tell me something: Who could ask for more
Than to be livin’ in a moment
You would die for?”