I don’t have much of a preface or anecdote for this post, other than only recently have I realized how much my mom was a friend to me and not just my mom. If you have a good relationship with your mom, you can understand the sweetness of also calling her your friend. Only a mom’s listening ear makes some stories worth telling. Frankly, no one else cares.
- I’ve crossed over to the dark side. We now use Scott toilet paper in our house—that plain, single-ply, no-thrills toilet paper. When I was younger I used to think, when I grow up I’m going to buy soft, fancy toilet paper with a pretty pattern like they have at so-and-so’s house. And for a while I did. I bought Charmin Ultra Soft, the mega rolls, and as mega as they were, they still didn’t last very long. Then one day I was checking out at Walmart and the clerk started expressing her dislike for Charmin, that she actually preferred Cottonelle. This got me thinking, only in America will you find individuals with such strong opinions about toilet paper, and that’s just silly, proof of how spoiled we are. So between those mega rolls not lasting very long and my epiphany at Walmart, I decided to go back to my roots, to good ol’ Scott. And you know, he’s not so bad, and I certainly get my money’s worth.
- For the past few weeks I’ve been walking in the morning before Sayla wakes up. My alarm sounds at 5:40 a.m. and I hate it, but I get up anyway. I have to walk up a long dirt drive before I reach the black top road, which has presented me with a problem: there are these somewhat big brown spiders that setup shop at night, creating a large web that reaches from a branch down to the ground, and usually their hub is right at eye level. Naturally, this gives me the willies and stresses me out. The last thing I want at 6 a.m. is a spider on my face. So I leave the house armed with a head lamp and broom, and as I approach the danger zones, I begin swinging the broom back and forth to clear a path. Sometimes my neighbor pities me and escorts me up to the road. Yes, he swings the broom back and forth for me. He is my knight in shining armor.
- I have become significantly careless these days when it comes to laundry. I now stick everything in the wash together—dark, light, white, whatever (I know my sister is cringing right now). Not that I was picky before, but I did show more caution. This new practice is a direct result of motherhood. Sayla changes clothes at least twice a day (and so do I), combined with spilled yogurt or a leaky diaper, and I end up doing laundry about every other day. Pre-parenthood, laundry was an “event” that took place on the weekends—ugh, I have to do laundry. Now it’s regular maintenance, like brushing teeth. The fact that I have White Shirt Syndrome doesn’t help my cause, meaning I always spill something on a white shirt, which is quite unfortunate because I love the look of a crisp, white top. So anyway, it doesn’t matter if I wash my white v-neck with a variety of colors or not; I will ruin it one way or another.