So, I totalllllly planned to write,

mommyeverafter — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 02:16:43 +0000

and share pictures of my afternoon as a Disney Princess,
until I accidentally conjured Lucille Ball.
You see, if you are not my facebook friend,
or husband,
or parent,
you probably don’t know that I spent the evening flooding my basement.
Let me just start by saying this:
I’m married to a good guy.
A sweet,
tutu buying
Princess embracing
good guy.
And, this good guy just so happens to also do all of our laundry.
He sorts.
He schleps.
He washes.
He dries.
He folds.
He puts away.
I told you;
Good, good guy.
Well, I decided that after 15 months
(yes, 15 months have passed since I first became pregnant, and in that time I have not lifted one, single laundry-laden finger)
I would surprise this good guy of mine by doing a load of baby clothes, while he was out for the evening.
I sorted.
I schlepped.
I added the detergent.
I set the settings.
I washed.
I checked on the wash.
It was sopping wet.
I ran it through another spin cycle.
I checked again.
But,
wait,
what’s that?
What’s that on my feet, as I trudge over to the washing machine?
Water.
Water Water Everywhere.
Ev.Er.Y.Where.
You see, I forgot to mention one crucial step above.
After the sorting and the schlepping,
I moved the heaping pile of bath towels from their perch atop the washing machine, and placed them in the sink that sits in between the washer and dryer.
(Because, in my head, apparently, that sink is purely ornamental. Except, not.)
You see, what I’ve learned in the past 2 hours is that the sink is needed to drain the wash water,
and when you fill it to the brim with large, downy bath towels,
it is bound to overflow.
And there you have it.
Noah’s ark in my basement.
Fortunately, our canines are already happy in their pair,
and so they marched, 2 by 2, onto the large, wooden ship and sailed away, to seek help.
And when they returned with a dove and told me that they had found dry land and a few spare rags,
I tried to tackle the mess.
So, as it turns out, I’m just about as good at cleaning up a basement flood as I am at doing laundry.
I may have even made it worse.
So, in true Lucy fashion,
I sucked it up, swallowed my pride and batted my lashes, as I had the dogs break the dripping wet news to my husband.
And you know what?
He was fine.
He assessed.
He schlepped.
He dried.
He mopped.
And, he even did a load of laundry.
And he did it well.
So, while I love Lucy,
I really love my good guy.
And this accident-prone, klutzy, laundry-layperson
is very, very lucky
that he loves me too.

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Mommy Ever After » laundry flood

So, I totalllllly planned to write,