So, here we are at Grandma and Grandpa's over vacation week (a real Delaunay holiday!), and I'm planning out my schedule for the week we return. You would think that, now I'm not working, there's plenty of time for leisure activities. TV. Books. Bon Bons.
You'd be dead wrong.
Every day I make a to-do list of, say, twelve items. Every day I cross off five or six, and copy the remaining items onto the top of the next day's list. I am like this little guy:
So I'm making my to-do list for next Monday, and the number one item is: Go Through Clothes.
We are buried in a mountain of clothes. Dirty laundry that just might date back to August. Socks and underwear two sizes too small, bursting out of their drawers. (Neither of my kids can close their dresser drawers.) Large piles of clothes in the corners of our "master" bedroom (the quotes are meant to signify the minuscule size of said bedroom, "master" being something of a joke in this case. Perhaps we should call it our "minion" bedroom).
In the minion bedroom, most of the visible piles belong to Lars. Not that I'm not a slob -- I am. Totally. It's just that my piles are out of sight in a laundry hamper I insisted on buying two summers ago. I filled it up at the time and haven't opened it since. Now I'm afraid to. The rest of my stray clothes go straight into the many laundry baskets that decorate our basement.
The trickiest part of this clothes project is going to be getting rid of Lars's old and holey clothes. (That would be, uh, most of them?) I try this every year or two, and each time I fail. Because unless I burn them, Lars will find them. He will pull them out of the trash, covered with egg shells and coffee grounds, and the next thing you know they're laundered and back in his drawer. When I object he tells me, "I'll use them for gardening. They're GARDENING CLOTHES."
At this point about three quarters of his garments are designated gardening clothes. Except they're not. They're just the clothes he wears to work every day. Do you think I find this humiliating? I DO. I asked him once whether his boss dresses nicely.
He said, "Are you kidding? He's gay."
"He's a GREAT dresser."
"Doesn't he care that you wear the same shirt four days in a row and it's got holes in the elbows?"
"I wear a different t-shirt underneath most of the time, so it's okay. Anyway, he loves me."
I guess I shouldn't complain. Lars is a pretty good guy, in spite of his peculiarities. He's compassionate and loving. He writes a mean Valentine's Day/birthday/anniversary card. The last one made me gasp first, and then scream. He's pretty cute, too.
I think I'll keep him.