Wow, Monday again. How did that happen? Seems like just yesterday I was doing 12 loads of laundry and having a crazy good time scrubbing my kitchen up to board-of-health standards.
You know that when I get frustrated I clean, right? If you looked at my house, you would assume that I am a very unfrustrated person and you would be wrong... oh so very wrong because I tend to become VERY focused in my cleaning. I spent an hour or two just on that little cubby on the fridge door where you get your ice and water. Does that have a name? And the sink... I only lasted about 15 minutes in the Flylady program but I did gather that a clean sink is supposed to be akin to an extreme mental-state makeover, so I used an old toothbrush around the faucet and the drains and sloshed in this and that until is shone! Shined? Whatev. Then I had to use it and it became just another downer in my clean/use/repeat life.
Oh, the source of my frustration? That would be the lone Y-chromosome in my house.
One day late last week, Homer started walking around the house examining it structurally. Looking at one side of a wall... then the other... tapping here, kicking there... looking at the ceiling and mumbling hmm and mm-hmm. I know he expected me to ask what he was up to... so I didn't. I couldn't.
My brain was done for the day so all I said was 'So help me God, if I come home tomorrow and find you have knocked out a wall or two, I will leave and never come back." Truthfully, I would never do that because my car could not even hold all my shoes, but I might change the locks the next time he ran to the H'Depot for supplies.
Then it was Friday and he spent the entire day making pumpkin people - a guy with an arrow through his pumpkin head (complete with ketchup blood) and a guy bending over and showing the world his pumpkin moon and generally festive-izing the front of the house. What? All of your husbands don't do this?
Okay, the boat didn't get moved - my ONE request - but the house was structurally intact so I felt safe for another day.
Then Saturday it all spilled - Homer's grand plan for an addition to the house. That's when I took up my toothbrush and started scouring... all the while repeating my mantra 'MUST not kill him, must NOT kill him... must not KILL him...' You get the idea. Not that I wouldn't love to have extra space in my house. Heck, I would sell my spotted soul for an attic and extra closet space.
So 'Wtf, Jane?' you're saying. Sounds win/win, you think. Well, you probably haven't lived with a gaping hole in the side of your house for those three months we call December, January and February. Okay, I haven't either, but I can see see the future if this were to take the well-traveled road of many of his other projects. That would be the well-traveled road that stops in the middle of nowhere... right there before the uncrossable river that a person who had PREPLANNED would have known about.
I won't bore you/depress me with a list of the reasons I have to be worried. But if you come looking for new posts and find nothing but the smell of bleach and burning brain, I want you to know why.