All last week, we dealt with the pestilence in our house. The other morning I crawled out of bed, knuckles dragging on the carpet. When Fiddledaddy saw me, he searched hard for something encouraging to say.
“Um, well, you’re pimple is getting better.”
“At least there’s that,” I mumbled as I shuffled toward the coffee pot.
This particular plague had taken me down with a thud. And really, there was no avoiding it. On Day 1, Jensen came to me, looking up through sad red eyes, batting his impossibly long eyelashes.
“BOOGER MAMA! BOOGER BOOGER BOOGER.”
Dutifully, I pulled his kleenex from my bra, otherwise known as the tissue dispenser, and relieved him of the offending booger.
No one was safe. I always knew where he was by the shrieks of the sisters, “MOM, JENSEN’S NOSE IS RUNNING AND HE’S EATING IT! GROSS!”
In domino affect, each child became afflicted, then the primary care giver, then never wanting to feel left out, Fiddledaddy.
The children each would swoop in for an hourly hug from me, only to leave a trail of boogers behind on my best black tattered t-shirt.
“C’mon people, I buy the expensive Kleenex with the Lotion built in, for crying out loud!”
Add in a couple of perfunctory nose bleeds, and my laundry doubled last week. After an earlier bout with a dry bleeding nose, Cailey, who had wisely chosen to wear all white, quipped as she looked down at the carnage, “I’m surrounded by blood.”
Just before dinner, as I stared at a bowl full of dead chicken breasts, Fiddledaddy came to my rescue. “Dial #2.” Which is code in our house for Takeaway service at Carrabbas.
We all piled into the van to procure dinner. As we sat in the parking lot, waiting for our order, I noticed a possible new fashion trend. A woman, about my age, was sporting a pant suit. I have the utmost respect for the Pant Suit. But, the pants, plaid in nature, had a familiar sheen to them. A shine, as it were. She was wearing plaid plastic pants. Fiddledaddy and I glanced at one another, to make sure that our eyes have indeed NOT failed us at last. Oh yes, my friend, those are plastic pants.
And the booger coated practical part of me got to thinking. An outfit like that could totally save me untold trips to the laundry room.
Is this a fashion trend? Clearly, I need to check in with Big Mama. Should I chose to revamp my wardrobe in plastic wear, and say, rip up the carpet and install a drain in the family room, my life is going to get a lot easier.
Which will mean a good deal more time to ponder lifes little mysteries. Like, why do the escalator rails travel at a different rate of speed than the stairs?
Plus a lot of other stuff I haven’t had time to think about.
I’m curious. What would you say is your best time saving technique?