|Crawling towards soap. |
The dirt makes her blurry.
My laziness has reached new heights. Or lows. (Let's go with lows, since I'm currently on the floor.)
This weekend was truly fun. Exhausting fun. But- let's put it into perspective, here. I wasn't scaling mountains with the girls strapped to my back. There were no death-defying underwater cave expeditions. (That's next weekend.) There was just good ol' fashioned Why Is Everything Covered In Food fun. The kind that you get from having two little kids (or one really sloppy husband or maybe a smallish dog).
Friday night found us with friends in Highland Park and then at Ravinia, picnicking with N & S and enjoying the croony croons of Lyle Lovett. (Two people snored on our blanket before the night was over. And it's not the two you'd think. I wasn't one of them. I've given away too much.) Our girls didn't get bathed that night. And they kinda could've used one. Maybe two. But by the time we got them home, they were asleep in our arms, and- this cannot be stated enough- we are lazy, lazy people.
Saturday brought us a BBQ with lovely pals (and their son, whom Nora informed me was going to buy her a ruby. A red one). The kids were having such a fun time playing with garden hose parts that I didn't have it in me to corral my girls for a bath. That's right, by this point you could've written your name on their forehead dust. Again, they fell asleep in our arms and we promised that we'd bathe them in the morning. Before breakfast, we told ourselves. Maybe we'd even wake them early.
But wouldn't you know it? They slept in[ish]. And it didn't make sense to bathe them in the midst of waffle-eatin'. And then the morning got away from us in a flurry of phone calls and a game that Nora calls "cupboard," whereupon she empties a section of the room onto the floor. (Did you see via my Facebook page that she also invented a game called "storage?" Nature vs. Nurture, folks. Nature vs. Nurture.) I also got wrapped up in the task of spackling, sanding, and re-painting parts of Nora's room, due to the gaping holes created when we moved baby furniture out, big kid furniture in, and when I realized that I had done a pretty junky job of some of it in the first place.
***Side note: There should be a manual that describes the various stages of fixer-upper homeownership, much like grief. One of those chapters should detail how a goodly month of your life will be spent undoing the subpar work that you yourself did to the place upon moving in. Maybe a footnote could be included about not using a drywall screw as a drillbit? Maybe?***
Anyhoo- it was Sunday night and I was fully exhausted from the act of neglecting my children's hygiene all weekend. I also had less than no desire to cook- and even less to clean. Because we do the trade-off; whomever cooks, the other cleans. Except that sometimes it's more work to put away the eight gazillion spoons and lids that P.J. utilizes on his nights than it would be to just defrost a pizza. But I couldn't even manage that.
I convinced Peej that we should order Chinese from the place down the street because the girls would love it (which is a lie: they are firmly ambivalent on the ordering of Chinese food), and because we could totally swing it in the budget this week (also mostly false, but I made up my mind then and there to not buy anything questionable online in this coming week). He agreed. Because he loves me. (And also because he didn't have it in him to cook/clean, either.) So we laid out a blanket, fed the children in front of the TV, and watched an episode of Wishbone. (For my husband is a media superdemon who can find any show he wishes just by thinking about it.)
After supper, we shook off the girls onto the blanket, shook off the blanket itself, and tossed the whole thing into the washing machine. (Not the girls, just the fabrics. Although I'm sure the kids could've used detergent by this juncture.) And then we finally finally washed our children in a bathtub in our house.
They now smell great.
And if you totally disregard the fact that we failed to leave the house on Sunday and in fact watched television from the '90s with our questionably young children...it was kinda like we went camping.
Camping's the best.