You may not consider a massive, crevice-polishing cleaning of the house something that might trigger pleasure sensors in the brain, but there are those of us who would disagree. And then only in Spring. When the days are cold, and it gets dark five hours after breakfast, noticing spider webs wrapped around the table legs is no big wup. Sunlight deprivation sucks the urge to Swiffer right out of the frontal cortex. But April? Lemon Pledge me a river.
I even felt compelled to conquer the Last Frontier: Son’s former room. This is directly across the hall from my office, formerly Daughter’s room. It lies behind a door that has been closed since late 2007 when Son moved out for the last time at 23. And since he bought a house this year, barring any seismic shifts in the Earth’s rotation, he is now an honored dinner guest rather than a laundry producing resident.
When we were all together at my friend Caryn’s for Passover, I informed Son of my plans to tackle his old room, and requested that he make himself available to help.
SON: Sure. With what? I’ve already taken everything out of there.
OSV: Everything except the books, videotapes, obsolete electronics, science projects under the bed, and the thirty or so athletic trophies. Do you still want those or should I just get rid of them?
SON: Do I want them? They’re called “trophies,” Mom. If they were meant to be thrown away, they’d be called something else. When do you want me over?
This year’s Passover was highlighted by the newly renovated bathroom at the Caryn house. My friend and I had been talking about doing our bathrooms since our children were in elementary school, and it’s ironic we both did them after the kids are all adults and on their own.
Of particular discussion was Caryn’s sonic toilet and vent fan, both made by some foreign country that specializes in state-of-the-art waste suction. Son did the bathroom in his new house as well, and he and Caryn had a lively conversation about the differing imported brands they bought and their relative performance and power. I don’t know, Husband and I pulled an American crapper off the shelf at Home Depot and it’s been doing the job just fine. American crap, American crapper.
When Son came over the other night to wade through the baseball cleats in the bottom of his old closet, I asked what he thought of the new Caryn bathroom in light of all the work he’s done on his own place.
SON: The tile work is excellent, and they picked awesome cabinets. It’s a great job all around. I didn’t want to say anything, but my flush is way more fierce.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos say “and….Action!”
roof jumping teachers
there goes the bride
keep crossing
keep busy