An alternate title could also be, "I Should Be Calling the Post Office To See Why We're Currently Still Receiving a Stranger's Mail" or perhaps "I Should Be Cleaning Our (Surprise!) Wood Floors To Get Them Ready to Paint." Then there's the equally dynamic "I Should Be Cleaning Out the Fridge and/or Pantry." But what it really boils down to is some or other version of this: "The List of Uninteresting Household Tasks I Should Be Doing is Surprisingly Never-ending, Regardless of How Much Time Stay at Home Moms Appear to Have on Their Hands: A Study in the Lengths I'll Go to in Order to Avoid Certain Mundane Chores While Still Appearing to Do Something Somewhat Productive."
While I should be spending some q.t. with my ironing board, I'll regale you with the various things happening around these parts. First, a simple Ikea bookcase for the top of our stairs set off a chain reaction of events that has resulted in our upstairs (our bedroom) being torn apart for the past two weeks. When Jamison removed the shoe molding to anchor one of the bookshelves to the wall, he also discovered that we did indeed have wood floors on the stairs, landing and in our room, despite our previous belief to the contrary. We had thought that we had some sort of weird wood-ish substance, mainly because our earlier attempts at ascertaining the presence or absence of wood floors revealed a putty-colored surface that kind of looked a little bit like wood.
Turns out it actually was wood that had been painted. So instead of simply removing the shoe molding and anchoring the bookshelf, Jamison spent the majority of Saturday-before-last ripping up carpet and padding, staples and tack strips. I had been looking forward to having some more storage upstairs and being able to move the stacks of books in our office right now to their home and maybe getting everything clean enough to maybe do some sewing up there but now it looks worse than ever. Oh well. I'm just glad we made the discovery. Now onto researching how to paint the floor. (I know, some people would just practically die to think of painting wood floors. I'm not one of those people.)
Wow. That was boring, wasn't it?
Now onto something a little strange. We're receiving a complete stranger's mail. It started a few weeks ago when we got the change of address confirmation in the mail. The confirmation listed a number to call if the information was incorrect, which I did. I was told to go to my local post office and tell them the problem. To say that I have approximately zero confidence in my local post office is a bit of an understatement. After explaining that no such individual by the name on the confirmation resides in my house, I was met by completely blank stares. So after wording our predicament a few more ways, the lady finally understood what I was getting at and said something vaguely like, "Huh. We should probably do something about this." But it seems as though nothing has been done, as we've been the recipients of mail for "Jack" ever since. Jamison, however, is not complaining because this mail has involved a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Bonus.
As if it isn't weird enough to be getting someone else's mail (and that he's also changed his address to ours with Sports Illustrated and other various places, since they now lack the telltale yellow label when the sender doesn't know the recipient's new address), there's another level of strange at work here. His name is Jack, but I noticed one piece of mail was addressed to John. And then I noticed another piece of mail addressed to "John W. whatever his last name is." Do you see where this is going? The next piece of mail revealed that his name is actually "John William." What are the odds? (Actually, back when we made an offer on the first house we ended up walking away from, one of the previous owners' names was John Will, which is what Mom calls Will. Coincidences abound. If we were living in an Alanis Morissette song, we would be dripping in irony-that-isn't-really-irony.)
What is not a coincidence is the effect the recent time change has had on us and our morning routine. This one has been particularly rough, especially on Laura, who takes forever to go to sleep and then is grumpy when I have to wake her up in the morning and/or for her naps when we have to go get Will at school. I feel her pain, though, since I seem to be wide awake at midnight here lately and that never happens. (That could also be due to the state of chaos our bedroom is in right now, though, since I find it hard to relax in the middle of such a huge mess.)
Yesterday morning was a prime example of the havoc the time change has wreaked on us, as Laura (our reliable 6 a.m. wakeup call since pretty much birth) slept until nearly 7. Which wouldn't be so bad if she were a faster eater, but it takes her about forty-fiveish minutes to finish up with her nursing session and then I have to get Will's oatmeal started before he gets up (the kind you make on the stove, not in the microwave, of course) and then get everyone dressed and out the door in a mad rush, so it's vital to everyone's health and sanity that I get up at six every morning that Will has school and get Laura fed and settled into her high chair with some Cheerios. So. That didn't happen. I was trying to juggle feeding Laura, fixing oatmeal, waking Will up at close to 8 (we leave at 8:30), hurrying him along with the oatmeal eating, etc. etc.
And then, just as we get ready to leave, I realize that Will has locked the bathroom door (no one is in the bathroom but I really need to brush my teeth before leaving) and that Laura has a dirty diaper. So I go out in the rain and flag Jamison down (he'd just left for work) and he took Will to school as I spent a good bit of Will's time at school (a) searching for the key to the bathroom door and (b) trying to get it open. I was not successful on the latter. (I'm writing this while listening to NPR coverage of the devastation in Japan and realize how completely silly and insignificant this all sounds. Forgive me. It's my way of childishly avoiding dealing with the reality that things are unfair and crazy and there's really no rhyme or reason in anything to do with life here on Earth, unfortunately.)
So. That's what's happening around here. (This was shockingly long-winded and meandering, especially since it's only 4 pm and I should thus still have my wits about myself.) Hopefully my next update will include commentary (and pictures!) of the ins and outs of painting wood floors...
No comments:
Post a Comment