I heard, not once but TWICE over this New Years holiday, that what you spend your time doing New Years Day is what you'll be doing for the rest of the year. It's possible I've been told this before, but after raising children and birds you learn to tune a lot of stuff out and just listen for keywords like fire, x-rays, accidentally, etc. This feels like the first time I really listened and heard it.
Homegirl told me that's why she was going to finish getting her house work done New Years Eve so she wouldn't be cleaning New Years Day, therefore selling herself into indentured servant status and cleaning for 365 days straight. That's what her mama always told her and then I saw someone else mention it on Facebook.
Hmmm...I thought about it when I woke up at a very late 10:00 a.m. and made coffee New Years Day. I can't remember the last time we slept that late on a Saturday morning. Usually by 7:30 Junior is standing over the husband's side of the bed saying "Can I please have a bowl of cereal? Dad, are you wearing your pajamas?" (Yes, about two months ago Junior joined, and has been assigned as Detective for the Pajama Police. Those are some funny conversations to hear about and or eavesdrop in on.) Junior spent the night with my brother's family. The cousins had a great time playing together.
I couldn't just sit there and do nothing on New Years Day, even after I worked pretty hard NYE day and played hard NYE night (fireworks, tons of sparkler smoke, jerk neighbor and cops, hors d'oeuvres, dessert, dominoes - girls lost, Dick Clark, more fireworks) I could have sat around and done nothing. I did want to get some work done so I mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors, washed everyone's bedding, cleaned the master bathroom, watched Aliens vs Predator: Requiem, goaded the husband into running the vacuum cleaner*, worked the organizational side of the Blackberry, and messed around with my Cozi calendar.
*Brother Dear called Saturday evening to let me know that one by one, their household was erupting with pukers and wanted to know if Junior was ok. At that time, he was just fine.
I feel like I worked pretty hard, but-cha know what?? If I can spend 2011 actually getting my money's worth out of my Netflix account, learn to effectively use my Blackberry for more than just Facebook, keep my calendar planned out and organized, and not just keep the house clean but have help doing it, I'm okay with that. I welcome it!
And I'm so thankful that Junior waited until January 2nd to get sick and puke-y. I certainly do NOT want to spend my 2011 chasing him around and catching his vomit in the trash can. (It certainly beats having to drag out the carpet cleaner though. It was a pretty sweet mom maneuver if I do say so myself. I totally say so.)
I know when he recounts the horror of his evening and is telling me about his story tomorrow, hand motions and all, I KNOW he's going to say when he puked it came out of him "like a ball-cane-o" and then I will laugh really hard because 1) How funny is "ball-cane-o"!? 2) his puke was mostly red, the color of hot lava and 3) volcanoes hit me where I live and I have the same thought Every. Single. Time. I hear the word volcano.
My first memory of being sick and staying home from school is of my mom serving me some red fruity jello as a Sorry You Feel Bad Snack. Seems logical, jello is easy on the tummy and fruit is supposed to be good for you, right? After eating the snack, I curled up on the three cushioned gold couch and watched a TV show about volcanoes. When the volcanoes started erupting and the red-hot lava spewed up and out, raining its ooze down the mountains, my fruity jello began to erupt up and out of me, down my blue night gown and as I ran for the bathroom, I left a chunky red trail across the living room floor, down the hallway and to the bathroom.
And that is why I hate red fruity jello.
And maybe volcanoes too.
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