Post-Holiday Chores

The LIST of things I should be doing instead of writing this blog:

What to do first?

1. Take down the tree.  This will include keeping three pairs of paws off the tree so that I can neatly organize each sentimentally valuable ornament, wrap the lights in an organized fashion on the nifty little reel that Hubby bought me at the after-holiday sale, and break the tree into a thousand little branches so that it will fit in the Christmas Tree Body Bag we keep in our basement.  How this task will probably go down: I’ll chuck everything in bins and curse myself next December.

2. Play with one of the many, MANY toys our children received from the jolly old elf.  My choices include playing legos, painting pottery shaped like cartoon characters, constructing my very own monster truck, coloring in a coloring book so large that Stevie Wonder could see it from space, pushing buttons that make annoying and/or repetitive sounds, or teaching Batman how to repel off his batcave, (which, at press time, is in Time Out because of a progression of events that included the following: whining, mild stomping, a full-blown temper tantrum, time out, and pulling on curtains with such force that my curtain rod was yanked out of the wall resulting in Mommy losing her sh*t in a very unladylike manner.)

3. Tackle one of the 4 loads of laundry that is literally overflowing from the laundry room.  I finished 4 loads last night, so I’m halfway there!  I feel that the universe is punishing me for having my laundry “sent out” while we were in NYC.  It’s not that I was particularly spoiled – it’s just that we lived in a 3^rd floor walk-up and I had two little boys with me at all times.  When we first moved, I loaded up the double stroller (which city dwellers will tell you they loooooove . . .) with a child in front and a gargantuan bag o’ laundry in the back.  I tried to steer the stroller with one hand and hold Large’s hand with the other all the way to the Laundromat, where I was expected to do enough laundry to keep my family of four clothed for a week.  And I was supposed to do this with my well-behaved and always cooperative toddlers in tow?  Okay, I’m spoiled – but really, Hubby agreeing to pay for us to have our laundry sent out may have just saved our marriage. 

4. Dispose of the two gift bags of cookies Hubby’s administrative assistant gave us.  They’re yummy, but devoid of chocolate.  Who sends cookies (to a family with children, no less) that don’t have chocolate chips, or chocolate drizzle, or chocolate candies, etc.?  Hello, Gift Horse, this is me looking in yer yapper.

5. Write a letter of apology to my uncle and his wife, who had to endure a dinner out with my children.  Grandpa’s idea of a casual meal with my family (sans my hubby, who was having new tires installed on the Divorce-Maker) included eating at an establishment where we had to wait a half hour just to be seated.  When we were finally seated at a booth with a 2-top stuck on the end, baby Small was perched way out in the aisle so that when wait staff raced by with trays precariously balanced with hot meals and heavy drinking glasses, my instinct was to cover his head.  It was like he was going through a little baby gauntlet filled with steak knives and pepper mills.  Medium was no more rambunctious than usual, but my uncle had to witness me gently escorting him outside so we could chat about his ability (or lack thereof) to make good decisions, one of them being NOT having a full-blown temper tantrum in an eating establishment that is clearly not designed for 5-year-olds whose bedtime was 10 minutes ago.  So now my uncle is privy to all of our dinnertime rules: "no feet where we eat" and "get out from under the damn table" being among them.