‘Do you like your child’s SO?’ I’m asked this question with surprising regularity and it still surprises me. If the person my child is seeing is making them both happy, that’s as deep as I need to think about it. It’s their relationship.
When the SO willingly makes a website for my child’s cat, with a light sarcasm that is sweet instead of snarky, well I can’t help but find the relationship extra charming.
A small part of our family oddness is explained by the reminder that we once had five children living in this 1 1/2 bath house with the world’s tiniest hot water heater tank. To keep the washer and dryer running whenever someone wasn’t bathing, it was more efficient to have separately colored laundry baskets where everyone sorts their own dirty laundry. Once the routine began, it took hold and even though we’re a smaller household, the laundry is still *your responsibility.
I’m not saying who, but sooomebody over here needs to take that online colorblind test again. Those white socks will never belong in the bright basket. Why are black shorts in the bright basket? Do you only see one basket?
Did your peripheral vision disappear!?
*I’m the bad parent on this one. I can only tolerate it accumulating on the floor for so long before I have to violate your personal space and collect it. As a result, I’ve been scolded repeatedly with nonsense about not washing jeans that I am not willing to accept. Nope. Jeans are not magically exempt from basic hygiene. I wanted to post a video of Antonia Rey demanding dirty jeans here, but it wasn’t available without some editing and honestly it just seemed like a silly way to spend my time when I have unfinished books so, watch the song, then enjoy her performance.
On October first, the big off-brand Rubbermaid style buckets get dragged up from the basement so that the children can scatter bats and skulls and assorted Halloween decorations all over the house. When November arrives and it is time to pack it away, a few favorites will become part of the permanent house decor. We’re the poverty version of the Addams family.
The dealership repaired the seat belt. The back window has been replaced a second time because it didn’t take the first time. I didn’t know that was a possibility, but if there’s rare chance of anything strange, you know we’re bizarro magnets.
The back door latch opening and closing incessantly and the multiple safety alarms it trips are still the same. Someone said there might be glass in the door motor, but the two tries glass repair dudes said there’s no more glass slivers anywhere. <- insert eye roll here ->
The side effect of the back door latch chaos is that we’ve had to replace the car battery. This week’s SAT math practice is determining how long a battery lasts with a broken something in the car draining it. Bonus points for guesstimating how many batteries it will take to get to the root of this mystery auto breakage.
In summary for our collective missing attention span, the boat is leaking and we’re bailing water instead of plugging the invisible hole.
The characters in romance novels are the opposite of environmentalists when it comes to wasting water. They shower half a dozen times a day. Their hair must be moldy from never actually drying. Hot showers. Cold showers. Long, long showers.
They must have magical water heaters and someone else paying their water bills.
There seems to be a theme among people who end up here because of an Internet search. After all this time, shouldn’t the state of TN have a central database of information and assistance for descendants of the Georgia Tann’s victims?