August 5, 2014

a quiet house

I'm not sure of what to do with myself.  Other than the familiar hum of the dryer and the washing machine's swish, there is no sound in the house.  Coach took all 6 kids camping.  Just over night.  They left a few hours ago.  Enough time for me to thoroughly sweep the kitchen.  Laddie's daily job.  Apparently he skips it more than he actually completes it.  I showered.  No interruptions.  I'm on my second load of laundry.  All current dirty laundry is sorted into piles, which I plan to clean before the gross camping laundry gets heaped on the laundry room.  Organized the wallet and zipper pouch where my wallet resides in my purse (most things just get shoved in there - receipts, crumbled cash, gift cards,  more receipts, etc.).  I read a few chapters in my book on the deck in my bathing suit.  Tempted to go to the pool, but without the kids that would feel weird.  Besides, I go to the pool most days.  Come to think of it, I do laundry most days too.  Time to do something out of the ordinary. 

I rarely have time to blog.  Getting that done.  Awesome.  I even made a list of topics I would like to write about, so when I find the time I don't stare at the computer and wonder what it was that irritated me so much the other day.  Or what the funny thing was that Curly said that I wanted to share.  Or what childhood memory my mind stumbled over while I was watching Laddie learn to drive.

I have housework on my list.  I'd love to get that done, but don't know if I can force myself to do that when I have no kids home.  True, I hate cleaning house when they are present and accounted for.  It infuriates me to stumble upon the messes, wrappers, smeared toothpaste, broken pencils, and clean clothes they return to the laundry room because said items have been residing on the floor of their rooms for so long that they now believe that the clothes are dirty.  My cleaning is punctuated with screaming spells directed at various child sized slobs begging them to make a change.  As if housework isn't exhausting enough, my temper tantrums add a whole new dimension to the task. 

After my blog post, I am headed to the mall.  Love shopping.  I have a few things to return, and I may as well look around while I'm there, right?  I plan to purchase a new bathing suit.  I have two good suits, but one is fading after 2 years of dedicated service.  We are going out of town in a few days, and I'd like to have a spare.  In addition to the suit shopping, I am a sale rack junkie.  This can add up of course.  On the way to the mall, I will stop and get the blue minivan scrubbed for Laddie.  The trick he doesn't realize is that once it's clean, he'll be responsible for the continued upkeep as the sole driver.  I expect it will not be very different than the constant disgusting state of my kitchen floor, but wonders never cease.

Before I head home to watch a chick flick while I organize all the kid books from the book shelf in the family room that I dumped yesterday, I intend to stop at my girlfriend's house for a visit.  Maybe a glass of wine.   A long chat, a few laughs.  Her kids will be home, so hoping they don't interfere with my no-kid state of mind.

I look forward to the campers' stories.  They only drove about an hour south of our home.  Coach and I didn't grow up camping.  It's a form of vacationing that we have chosen to adapt to.  Not my favorite, but it does make good budget sense when traveling with a family of our size.  Our scheduled vacations are typically every other year, with the hopes of a short beach like getaway on the off years.  Since we didn't hike a mountain out west, or explore the Grand Canyon this summer our camping gear along with our little happy campers sat idle.  Coach feels like an overnight camp out renews their love of camping and refreshes their adventurous side.  I accept the camping journeys we have taken to distant national parks, but I don't feel compelled to camp near home just to say I've done it.  So far, that frame of mind and has served me well!

On to the car wash and the mall.

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