Laundry Couch

Today's entry pays homage to my dear friend, Laundry Couch.

Laundry Couch provides me with much needed space on which to store the many loads of laundry that I produce in a week. Laundry Couch may look like a space to sit on, but that only applies to you if you are a cotton or polyester blend, size 2T or 3-6 months.

When we moved into this home, it was...err...partially furnished, and not to our asking. It's a 'free living' situation provided to the minister of music (a.k.a. my husband) at our new church. It was formerly the parsonage for the church, but the parsonage has since officially moved to another town, as the pastor didn't always want people knocking on their door with questions, comments, prayer requests, etc. This is now our burden to carry, although I do believe I've taken care of that - we haven't had any unexpected guests since the last time I answered the door, in my underwear, holding the sleeping baby, whispering to the women at the door and looking around suspiciously, hoping not to wake up the sleeping toddler down the hall. When I answered, I honestly thought my husband had just forgotten his house key and was home from work. Oops.

So, we moved in to the old parsonage, and were 'blessed' with a whole lotta furniture and religious relics that we really weren't interested in retaining. It since has all been removed, except for a baby grand piano yet to be dealt with (anyone want it? Not worth anymore more than its ivory keys, but it has genuine ivories...please???), and a couch and recliner which we chose to keep. The couch has since been named Laundry Couch.

It's very, very easy to do laundry throughout the day, as it takes about 3 minutes total involvement - throw the laundry in while the water fills, toss it in the dryer, hang up a few things here and there, and voila, it's finished, warm and fuzzy in the dryer. Folding and putting away laundry, though - that's another story.

I do at least a load a day - sometimes three or four if I'm inspired and if I've worn the same pair of yoga pants three days running and can't find anything else to put on my lower half. It's also pretty much impossible to get through a day without doing a load when you have this on your hands (as well as an infant who regularly spits up all over himself):

Laundry Couch happily houses my laundry while I'm unable to get to it other than to quickly sift through for yet another onesie, or my next stash of burp cloths and bibs. It's amazing, and I want to thank whoever left it for providing me with the best laundry storage area ever.

I get around to folding the accumulated loads probably twice a week. It's one of my favorite evening pastimes (not really). A pile, as you'll see below, contains five or six loads and takes me probably about two hours to fold, but I can get two and a half episodes of something watched while I do it, which is lovely. I usually kick back with my friends from Lost, categorize and fold the massive pile, and put what I can away, which typically means I look at the folded laundry, relish in my powerful domesticity, and say, "Ahh, whatever, I'll put it away tomorrow." The folded laundry will remain neatly stacked for a day or two until more loads need to take their turn on the deep, wide cushions that just look made for holding them.

Here's to you, Laundry Couch. I look forward to sitting on you.

Mom of the Year (for three hours)

Before this all begins, let me say that I haven't had a blog since the days of Xanga, Friendster, and MySpace. Now that I'm officially a "Stay at Home Mom," I find that I want to capture the hilarious moments that happen in my household on a daily basis, as well as to reflect on the moments when I fail as a mother, wife, or human being in general. I hope that these moments are also, when looked back upon, hilarious.

Right now, I have a toddler, E, standing at his door - mind you, he cannot escape as he's blockaded in by a baby gate - saying "Come out, please." He's been "napping" in there for about 17 minutes. When I go back there to tell him to get back in bed (a.k.a. you'd better take a freaking nap because if mommy can't get ten damn minutes to herself someone's gonna die), he'll be standing there as sweet as can be, with about eight stuffed animals lined up at his feet, looking like he's ready to pass out but refusing to do so. Go. To. Bed.

Falling asleep in the car on the way to or from anywhere has been death to nap, and I find myself thrilled to sing Jingle Bells 40 times during the ride if it will keep him awake. Before this nap vanished into thin air today, I was awesome. Both kids woke up promptly at 6a.m., which makes me want to die every single morning, but it's my own stupid fault for staying up too late the night before - and I'm not talking 9:30, people, I'm talking a good solid 11p.m. That is LATE. Everyone was properly changed, fed, and entertained by 7:30. My infant, H, was ready for his first nap, and went down briefly. I spent a few minutes partially asleep holding H while I let E watch his daily 24 minutes of television, and then began to prepare everyone to leave the house, because we are going to the mall.

This venture takes about two hours. I get E changed and dressed, give him an applesauce pouch to snack on until lunch, clean up the pouch droppings as he parades around the house with it, dress H, change H, dress H again, put on my shoes, and realize H needs to be fed again. The very, very brief window of opportunity to get out of the door is gone, hence why this always, always takes two hours.

I sit down to feed H, and halfway through, he randomly gags and then projectile vomits partially digested breastmilk EVERYWHERE. And by everywhere, I really mean it - down my shirt, down my pants (soaked through all the way to my underwear), all over the couch, all over himself, on the Boppy, on the floor, and when I later return to get them, I realize on my shoes as well. Awesome.

I change everyone and everything, finish feeding H (better get something in him as I'm pretty positive he's emptied his entire digestive system), pack everyone up, and leave the house. I plop the carseat into the car, persuade the toddler to get in with the sweet, sweet offering of a gummy vitamin, and start driving. We were going to get to the mall today if it was going to kill us.

We get there, I shop in one store, we hit the play area, I feed H again, I get an organic chicken kid's meal for E (food court win!), and then I take not one, but both children on the carousel, by myself. At this point, I feel like a real winner. I look like a mom who can do it all. I don't even have any barf on my shirt. I look around to make sure that SOME parent somewhere sees me being this awesome. Someone somewhere must know that I've already been up for at least 5 hours, both of my children look normal and happy, and only some of my hair is messed up.

And then E starts crying - some tiny thing sets him off and my brief honeymoon with the kids is over. We've reached a point where E needs a nap, and I'm screwed. It's not even noon - naptime is typically closer to 1, but he woke up early this morning so he's ready. I give him a pacifier, put him in the stroller, put a fuzzy blanket on him, and start walking to hit a store or two before we leave, because I just want to get Christmas shopping over and done with. Now I look like that mom that doesn't care, and just lets her toddler run around with a pacifier in his mouth all day to shut him up. My feelings about his and other children's pacifier use will be addressed some other time, though.

It's me time now, and I decide we need to leave, but can't help but get a cup of tea at Teavana on the way out. Both kids are locked in the stroller, and I can surely manage a free hand for something warm and delicious. While the tea is brewing, some damn train comes tooting through the mall with kids and their parents riding in it. E is pissed. He wants a ride, and he wants it now. This all happens as I get my tea, look over, and realize that H has finally fallen asleep, after not having a real nap yet today. We are not getting on that train.

I gain my resolve, and this is when I start to quietly bargain as I walk them out the door. We can come back tomorrow. Daddy will be home around dinner time, won't it be fun to ask him to bring you tomorrow? Daddy would love to ride the train with you. Do you remember how we went on the carousel before? Wasn't that fun? Let's talk about that instead. What songs do you want to sing in the car?

If I had fruit snacks or another pouch or something hidden in the car, this is the place where I would offer it.

Somehow talking about the carousel distracts him from being distraught about not riding the train. We just can't...we need to go home for his sake, but there's absolutely no way to explain it to him right now.
We get to the car, sing Let it Snow over and over until E passes out ANYWAY, and now here I am. H is still passed out in his carseat where he will remain until he wakes (thanks, kiddo), and E and I are at war. I've put him back into his toddler bed a second time, rubbed his back to calm him, and will sit here, during my ten minutes of being alone, biding my time until he takes another stab at coming out.

At least he's super cute. ;)