Quality time with dear friends and family. An outfit you find stylish AND comfortable. Relaxation on the couch during nap time. Dinner prep started on time with both recipes' cooking times coordinated.
Just when your day seems totally under control, you realize that there is poop everywhere.
This is not a metaphor.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Thursday, January 9, 2014
What I'm Doing
Thinking of starting a new series: What I'm doing while I could/want to be/instead of blogging.
I'll be honest, sometimes it's napping.
But today? Today it's 45 minutes of ironing curtains. SO FAR. Because I've only done one. Still have one more to go.
IRONING.
I try to be a dutiful housewife, but ironing is where I typically draw the line. My clothes are often wrinkled (aka "bohemian chic"), and J was directed towards the spray bottle and the dryer enough times in the first couple years of our marriage to now fully comprehend the futility of this particular request when posed to me. I haven't been asked to iron in years! (Hand to the heavens.). And yet, here I sit, hunched over the half-length ironing board that sits six inches off the ground (because I, disdainer of this unessential chore, do not even own a full-size ironing board), a victim of Ikea's white curtains that shrink in the wash, and therefore must be pre-washed prior to hemming and hanging, held captive by my own minimalist sense of decor and preference for clean, straight lines. Bohemian chic just won't do in the living room.
And so, I'm ironing.
I'll be honest, sometimes it's napping.
But today? Today it's 45 minutes of ironing curtains. SO FAR. Because I've only done one. Still have one more to go.
IRONING.
I try to be a dutiful housewife, but ironing is where I typically draw the line. My clothes are often wrinkled (aka "bohemian chic"), and J was directed towards the spray bottle and the dryer enough times in the first couple years of our marriage to now fully comprehend the futility of this particular request when posed to me. I haven't been asked to iron in years! (Hand to the heavens.). And yet, here I sit, hunched over the half-length ironing board that sits six inches off the ground (because I, disdainer of this unessential chore, do not even own a full-size ironing board), a victim of Ikea's white curtains that shrink in the wash, and therefore must be pre-washed prior to hemming and hanging, held captive by my own minimalist sense of decor and preference for clean, straight lines. Bohemian chic just won't do in the living room.
And so, I'm ironing.
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