What goes around comes around...

When I was a little girl, I was a picky eater.  I always used to think that it was my parents' fault (they were always trying to make me eat HEALTHY, damn them!), but looking back it was clearly me who had the problem.  They would send healthy lunches to school with me: peanut butter and honey sandwiches (way back before peanuts were considered weapons of mass destruction), orange slices, and carrot sticks, only to find them crammed into the back of my desk when they came for parent-teacher interviews.  I would have thrown them in the garbage, but they had the teacher on 'garbage patrol'.  They even got the bus driver involved when I started trying to use the garbage can on the bus.  I was persistent, but so were they.

Finally the day came when I started bringing home an empty lunch box on a regular basis.  My parents, ever suspicious, immediately called the teacher to check in with her but she could find no trace of my lunch remnants anywhere.  It would appear that the lunch problem had been solved!

A few months later, my mom started noticing a funny smell in my room.  Thinking that the carpet had developed mold underneath from the humidifier running, she ripped out the carpets and replaced them with rubber tiles.  That didn't work so she replaced the mattress and all of the bedding, and still, that SMELL!  Desperate (and confused) they decided to take down the wallpaper.  While they were moving the furniture, preparing for this ornerous task they happened upon 'my stash'.  Several weeks (or was it months) worth of lunch leftovers crammed behind the books in my bookshelf.  I may have only been 6 or 7 but damn was I smart, right? 

I am telling you this because today I found this under the couch:

and the day before that it was peanut butter toast underneath the couch, and the day before that it was grapes in the cracks of my leather sofa, and the day before that it was a pile of grated cheese and a muffin underneath his bed. 

Talk about KARMA! 

All of my wonderful traits and quirks and THIS is the one he chooses to emulate?  Great.

Anyone know a cleaning lady who excels at hide and go seek?  (I am only kidding... for now)

Marebare xoxo

Update on the last post: An epiphany

After I posted my last blog entry on facebook, some brief conversation followed with some friends who know me well which lead me to have an epiphany.  It isn't the cooking (or even the baking) that stresses me out about entertaining at my house, it's the CLEANING!!!!  In fact, I had written the following entry a few months ago and it was just sitting (unfinished) in my 'drafts' folder waiting for just such an occassion to be published.  I believe the original title was 'Making Peace with Futility'.

I have experienced encouters with futility thoughout my life: any/all attempts to increase my vertical jump (my 2-year-old can already jump higher than me), whittle my midsection to flatness (I am currently and incessantly rocking a diva/goddess/buddha paunch), and for the past two, almost three years, cleaning my house.


The dictionary defines futility as:


1. The quality of having no useful result; uselessness.
2. Lack of importance or purpose; frivolousness.
3. A futile act.
 
I wouldn't call any of my above three encounters frivolous (except for maybe the vertical jump), so, I guess we can render them 'useless', or as I like to think of them: POINTLESS!
 
Nap times are dwidling in my house as Chephren approaches three -- making the days when he actually does nap sacred.  I mean, this is literally the ONLY time that I get for me nowadays and I try to spend it as selfishly as possible: naps, reading, yoga, meditation... ahhh... just that string of words brings me a feeling of bliss. 
 
This past Tuesday just happened to be one of those sacred days... and I took full advantage by scrubbing my floors and toilets...

PSYCH!  (Remember when people used to say that back in the 90's?  I loved it, and I am bringing it back... just sayin'!)

Anyway, why oh why would I spend my precious 'me' time cleaning my house, only to have 'Captain Destructo' wake up from his nap and literally undo my efforts in 5 minutes flat?  Nope.  Not happening.  I would rather have a dirty house.  There I said it.  My house is mildly dirty and often messy.  If you would like to come over for dinner, I would love to cook for you, but you can for sure expect a messy house and week-old cookies for dessert (at best). 

And here, for the record, is what Chephren was up to while I was having my epiphany and writing about it on here:

I rest my case.

Marebare