I've been a cleaning fool today. And an organizing fool, with the help of my two year old. She enjoys rearranging things, moving smoothly as she pilfers from the newly reunited set of whatever and hides key pieces behind furniture. She keeps a running monologue going while she redistributes, all sotto voce, with an occasional "aargh!" or "muwahahaha!" or my favorite "you'll never find it now!" in her best Swiper the Fox impression.
You may now address me as Imelda, (or Ms. Marcos if you're nasty) for I have unearthed a zillion pairs of shoes, in various states. I have sizes from infant up to adult, all colors, shapes, occasions. Most of them are looking pretty trashed, and I don't know why I have never bothered to weed out the collection. Oh wait. I have.
Do they mate, tangled together on the closet floor? Is there a reason that every corner of my house is bursting with abused shoes? It is ridiculous. I think I feel a photo essay coming on.
Speaking of photo essays, way back in January, I swore I was going to cook an entire dinner party in my daughter's Easy Bake oven. I am still meaning to do that. I just have to find the right recipes, because one little quiche takes over an hour. I'm going to be slaving over the Easy Bake for hours, so the food better be good at room temperature.
I talked to my sister, who is helping my parents on the camping expedition, and she told me how my son was wishing on stars that the camping trip would last twelve days. She thought that was so sweet. I have to admit, that's a pretty good wish. More vacation is always a good idea.
The other day, we got up at dawn's early light to do a practice walk to school. Waiting for my friend and her children on our lawn (her oldest is starting school this year as well, and since they live in our neighborhood, we'll probably walk together) I was amused to see her hauling ass down the sidewalk, pushing her youngest in the stroller, her daughter trailing along behind. She was obviously at the end of her rope. It was like one of those cartoons where steam is curling out an angry person's ears.
I know that feeling well.
Anyway, assorted delays involving shoes had slowed them down, and she was frustrated and worried that getting to school on time was going to be difficult. "Well, duh" was my helpful commentary. Then I proceeded to lecture her on how *I* do it (which was totally exaggerating, because yeah, right, sure I pack everything the night before and have the breakfast table set and outfits laid out and I leave the TV off and and and...) I maybe led her to believe that I actually do all these things, all the time. I mean, I totally plan to do them, and everyone knows that it's the right way, so I feel okay about sharing "my" knowledge with her. (Hi! I know you read my blog, so now you know how full of crap I am!)
Not that she'll be surprised to know I put a spitshine on my actual morning routine to sound like I have my act together when I typically spend a good 10 minutes frantically crawling around on my hands and knees looking for a single matching pair of shoes, uttering foul oaths.
Shoes! The bane of my existence! They taunt me with their plentifulness and unmatchedness. They force me to my knees in agony, forehead pressed to the Pergo as I strain my eyes to see under the couch, again and again. I rage around the house clutching one sandal and one tennis shoe, hoping to find a match, but no! I find only another sandal, in a different size, and a mary jane. Why? WHY?!
Imelda had the right idea with all those climate controlled vaults full of spacious, well organized shoe racks. I'm just sayin'
So anyway, on the walk to school, my children were plucking dandelions off lawns as we passed and noisily blowing the seeds right back onto the lawns (you're welcome, neighbors!) after making a whispered wish. Aw, how cute, I thought. But then I heard what they were wishing.
"I wish my sister didn't have any legs."
"I wish my brother's brain would go away."
"I wish my sister wasn't on this planet."
"I wish my brother would get eaten by a rhino."
Oh, okay. Great. Not so cute after all. I nipped that in the bud. I'm a wish dictator. You wish on my terms, or do it silently.
I wonder if they wished for more shoes?