Zeus and Louise will look far more excited and delighted once Mick returns to the fold.
Today I cleaned. I should have gone in to work. No, I wasn't scheduled, I didn't skip, but I do need to continue with my orientation materials and training. But I wasn't scheduled today and Mick will be home tomorrow.
So I felt the need to clean, to organize, and to do so many different things that I ran out of time for. So, what's new? Not the mending. Definitely not new. No matter how much mending I do, Sam keeps the stacks growing. Since I found two pairs of panties that were complete enough to wear (though Frankenstein-ish they are), the mending got put on the back burner.
It was kind of a luxury, as ludicrous as that sounds, to stay at home, all by myself, and really clean. I can't really clean when anyone is here. Apparently I hadn't been alone in awhile. You know how you can vacuum, dust, sweep, and mop, and then look down one day, even after immediately finishing these tasks and then scream, "Oh, my God! Filth!" Because that is the moment that you realize that there are edges and corners that have eight-eyed monsters lurking in the fluff aka dust bunnies (what a phrase--to make something so gross sound so benevolent and sweet!); base boards streaked with grime you don't even want to know the origins of; light switches, outlets, door knobs all carrying the plague; and then you notice the walls in the hallway and you can't believe that you never saw the remnants of dirty hands that rubbed every surface ( and you have to wonder if your children can walk without the aid of the walls for support).
I don't know how I missed all this grossness. I blame the commercials on television that try to make cleaning one's house just a piece of cake if only you will buy their product. It's such a lie. We all know, if we open our eyes, that clean houses can only be achieved with ladders and /or on our hands and knees. Today was a hands and knees days. And then when I declared myself done, I looked up at the ceiling fan and just shook my head. Save it for another day.
So Mick is home tomorrow afternoon while I'm at work. The advantage for me is that brother Frank agreed to go pick him up at the airport. This means that I don't have to re-schedule an orientation class and also that I don't have to drive up to Portland, which is among the least favorite things that I dread doing, but will actually do.
Partially, I cleaned the house in anticipation of Mick's homecoming. Truthfully, it was more of a pro-active attempt to improve my mental health. Seriously, dirt (unless it's outside) and clutter mess with my psychological functioning and emotional well-being. I will be doing a lot of cleaning at the house I'll be working at. We are there to support the individuals we serve and improve the quality of their lives. So among many other things, a clean environment is a must. I couldn't bear to clean someone else's house all day and then come home to squalor.
Last night in my nest. I don't mean that to sound like Mick isn't welcome. Of course he's welcome. That's why we bought a king-sized bed (which suggests a limited welcoming, but, hey, a good night's sleep is important and a hard thing to come by). I must say that there has been something very satisfying about tossing the seven pillows about and then throwing myself into the middle of them and then either sinking into slumber OR thrashing about, tossing and turning, turning the light on when I can't sleep and reading, turning the fan on and off and maybe on again, window open, window closed, or open three inches or twenty inches, back and forth, up and down, and never the least bit of concern about disturbing anyone else.
My side of the bed has been the middle. And the left side. And the right. I sometimes sleep diagonally. I've been known to sleep sideways. Tomorrow...back to my trench. Back to being considerate. Moving gently. Moving carefully. Fighting for the covers...
I even bathed the dogs today and I have to admit that that was done semi-grudgingly. Mick had actually, unbelievably, offered to give me a break and bathe the dogs when he got home! This has never, ever, ever happened before. And those damned dogs stank too much for me to wait even one more day.
Yesterday, I was patting Louise on the head, patting, not rubbing, just a gently pat, pat, pat, and then my hand reeked of skunk! Still. I mean, really! When does that stink wear off? Why does bathing and towel-drying not do the trick, but my hand can absorb the odor?
Mick gets to give her the sniff test tomorrow. I just couldn't face it after the bath. They both stink like wet dog until they dry, but Louise was smelling like wet skunk-dog, so I just ignored them when I was done. Because I am done. Done, done, done. And I want a rain check on that dog-bathing offer. I was never sure how that ended up being my sole responsibility anyway, except that I give in, I'm weak, once they start to stink. Men, just naturally, seem to be able to handle foul smells better.
Our fingers are crossed that the Pelican era of our lives has come to a close. After getting burned once, we're cautious in our optimism, but it's looking good this time. It will be so good to be back together again. Mick takes all my ribbing with good humor, and that is all it is--a gentle ribbing. Not that he can't be annoying, but isn't nearly as much as I like to pretend that he is. This has been a long, strange year. We are all, and by all I mean, myself, Miranda, Sam, Hedwig, Hecate, Louise, and Zeus, ALL of us, looking forward to having Mick home again. Looking forward to being complete.
Coming next week: "How Annoying Can A Man Be?", "Can You Give Me a Break With the Non-stop Sports?", "Will I Ever Get to Watch 'Keeping Up With the Kardashians' Again?", "What is That Smell?" and "Housework is NOT Just for Women!"
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