Tomorrow will bring the last of a flurry of household maintenance calls, the highlight of which was last Friday's carpet cleaning. That was the big one. That one, darlings, meant something. It was huge. Getting ready for the carpet cleaners meant that I finished long-overdue deep cleaning, and after that? Holiday decor out the wazoo, whatever the wazoo is. Along with the holiday decorating? Long-overdue sprucing up of our abode, so that when the decorations come down, we'll have a reasonably cute space to live in.
But then there's Didgeridoo Boy.
I don't know how he does it. He creates black, greasy smears on the carpet. Food will be dropped. Crumbs follow him. And I find myself turning into *THAT MOM* -- the one who, when you visited the friend's house who had *THAT MOM* made you all but strip naked at the door and put on a white, sterilized robe and dusted everything you touched. Okay, I'm not that bad, but I am on spot patrol something outlandish.
So remember when I said I needed a hobby? I have one that's two-fold: First, I'm on a mission to figure out just how in the hell he can mess up freshly-cleaned carpet so quickly. Second, I'm really coming to enjoy cleaning little grey, greasy spots out of said freshly-cleaned carpet.
Does anyone have an aspirin?
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