Sunday, June 11, 2006

Thoughts of Stains and Leftovers

Pretreating my laundry stains was never a concern of mine until I started going through five shirts a day. There are now shirts of mine that are hanging in the back of the closet because I’m not brave enough to look at the ground in stains of milk, formula, and baby vomit. Several of the onesies that she wore went straight from her body to the trash can. I’m delighted to report that my days of dreading these stains are gone now. Hopefully, they’re behind me. I’ve learned the wisdom of pretreating. I’ve experimented with different pre-treater types. The spray bottle fits in with my lifestyle and lack of time to stand over a sink of hot soapy detergent every night. The Melaleuca stuff that my friends used to use way back when- I’m eagerly looking forward to it. Mostly because I won’t have as tight a window with that. Because with most stain-treatments, I’ve found that if you spray it on and let it sit for three weeks, I get these odd little bleachy-stains and holes in the fabric. I’m waiting for my box to arrive. I just hope I don’t run out of stuff before then.

The Slime Creature from Hoboken has set up an outpost in my fridge again. I’ve got to get in there and do a massive cleanout. There are pieces of Rubbermaid in the fridge that I am not even going to bother opening to clean out because that’s how long they’ve been in there stewing. Part of me is bummed that I’m going to be wasting the food/money/resources. The rest of me shudders and repeats that as long as we don’t think about it, the fridge won’t develop a personality of it’s very own and start plotting world domination.

Besides, my fridge would look really silly in black leather.

So I’m still a little bit in shock from hearing the Boy over the phone yesterday. This is like when he was in boot camp. All I could think of to say was “I miss you. I love you.” The delay in the lines meant that we were constantly talking over each other’s sentences. I have no idea where he was calling from, which I’ll admit is a bit unnerving sometimes. The majority of the time I just don’t want to know… I just don’t want to know. He’s just Over There somewhere. He’s coming home in two months. Six or seven weeks away. I’m still waiting…

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