I’m freaking out! I am living in an obstacle course and I can’t stand it any longer!!!
We are getting new carpet in my daughter’s and youngest son’s bedrooms. Everything - beds, dressers, desks, chairs, stereos, TVs, toys, clothes, foot lockers, and even a Utah Jazz vertical locker, is stacked in my dining
area and kitchen.
I made supper last night and have the scars to prove it.
I had to climb over two foot lockers and a bean bag chair, giving my shin a good crack in the process. I have a nice little bruise and a cut today to remind me. After I scale down the other side, I have to twist my body into a very unnatural position (unless you’re into the Karma Sutra), lower myself
between the side of the fridge and a chest of drawers. I got a scrape down my back for that maneuver. Crawl between a mattress that is laying half on it’s side leaning on the cupboard. This part was a little fun, especially since I didn’t receive any injuries. Once I surfaced on the other side of mattress cave, I again had to pull a shoulder and a hip out of socket so I could corkscrew myself into the 6 inch space next to the stove. I dunno, maybe it was 7 inches, it felt like 6.
I situate my body to another style of “wedge” (speaking of which, I forgot
to mention the major wedgy I received from climbing over the beanbag chair.), one that only turned me a sky blue color instead of violet.
SHIT!!! I can’t reach the food cupboard because I have the corner of a stereo speaker stabbed into my side.
I climb up on the cabinet and carefully work my way to the food cupboard and almost break my neck as I slip on the minute glob of butter my daughter, Princess Slob or one of her royal piggy subjects didn’t wipe up. This was not only good for a loud heart palpitation, but a bloody knuckle from the hood of the stove.
Finally I get to the cupboard. I open the doors and see that I have my choice of macaroni and cheese or cheese and macaroni. Did I mention how I hate to shop until we are to the point of eating peanut butter with instant mashed potatoes? (Okay, I really do have other things in the fridge, but I’m not in the mood to get creative.)
I pull out a box and realize that not only do I have to backtrack the way I came in, once I get to the trail head, I need to step over a box of books and squeeze between a stereo cabinet just to get a freakin pot.
I arrive with only a few injuries and again back track to the stove. Thank God I was bright enough to stop 3/4 of the way and fill the pan with water, otherwise I would have had to crawl through mattress cave again.
I boil the water, dump in the noodles, cook them. Piece of cake.
My strainer is across the room in a cabinet behind the vertical sports locker. Fuck it, I attempt to drain the water freestyle. I only lost about 6 or 7 noodles down the drain. I’m rather proud of myself.
Shit,shit,shit.
I twist around again so I can lower myself to the back entrance of mattress cave, crawl through (it is not only not fun any more, it rather sucks the big one), climb over bean bag/foot locker mountain, prop myself on the table and push a basketball toybox to the side with both feet, slide a box of CDs just far enough to open the fridge, pull out the milk and butter, and fight my way back to the stove carrying both in my arms. I pushed them along the floor when I went through shit cave. It was impressive. Really!
I finish up and holler at my youngest to come in from his football game with friends and pound on my daughters bedroom door (she has MXPX blasting at a full 11 on boom box. The echo in her room makes the music even louder. I think she will be deaf by the time she hits 18) and tell them to come eat.
My son tells me that he isn’t hungry because he ate at the baby-sitters before I picked him up. My daughter tells me that her and her boyfriend stopped at some Thai place on the way home so she doesn’t want any either. Oldest son is at work and won’t be home until late, besides, he hates M & C. I’m no longer hungry.
I would have taken the pan and force fed the kids had I the energy to spelunk to the silverware drawer.
Tonight I stopped for fast food.
That is just my kitchen.
I don’t have the energy to write about the paint splashes and pieces of wallpaper that covers almost every square inch of my back hallway, bathroom, and the two bedrooms.
I just hate when I get these wild, hair-brained ideas to redecorate. It’s like child birth - you forget how painful it really is until it is too late.
Why do I do this to myself?
Pardon me while I burst into flames.
