Monday, August 8, 2011

I've Got To Mail the Sheets

Afternoon Readers,

     It's Monday. I don't mean to state the obvious, but I thought I'd be open and share the first thought that popped into my head this morning. "It's Monday." Staring at the ceiling, I contemplated it again. "Monday means...'sheet/bill day'." I pulled my own sheets over my head and made a little tent of self-contemplation where three things were clear. a) I needed to brush my teeth and b.) Sleeping in jogging shorts causes ride-up at about three in the morning and c.) Hiding in bed all day was not an option. How I wished it was an option.

     "Maa? Maa, no no no." Roughly translated, Sundance had waived a fat hand and said, "Hey ya Toots. It's sheet day!"

     Sometimes babies really know how to rub it in. Having succeeded in dragging my rumpled jogging shorts into Butch and Sundance's room, I was flooded with relief; Most people get up, drive to Starbucks and have their coffee handed to them. On a good day, I get up, walk next door and get a diaper handed to me by a naked baby. Naked babies are a good reason Monday's stayed "sheet day".
     Over my breakfast of exhaustion and cold pancake, I chewed over the reasons today's chores cause the place where my back muscles should be, to hurt.

Sheets:
1. Changing crib sheets requires a thorough warm-up. Not just touching your toes once, but a solid five times around the backyard, complete with hurdling both your dog and the neighbor's Golden Retriever.

2.) Climbing into cribs is awkward. Last week, the only thing that'd stopped me from getting stuck upside down, was my muffin top catching on the side and holding me in place until I could kick my legs to safety.

3.) Unmaking and re-making beds is frustrating when the only help you've got can't stop slapping you in the back of the leg, taking off their diaper and re-creating the most dramatic scenes from The Lord of The Flies, while you're arms-deep in fitted sheets.

Bills:
1.) Writing a check is made all the more complicated by having to stop because you've written "Stop slapping your sister", where you should've put seventy-five dollars and thirty-two cents.

2.)Getting calls from the bank confirming whether I meant to write the gas company a million dollar check is  starting to get down-right embarrassing. Having to explain the extra zeros are being caused by baby-scream-induced hand spasms is making my stretch-marks itch.

3.) I'd use online billing if I could just remember my passwords. Having to have them re-set all the time is annoying. Especially when I get the retrieval email stating that my password was something I'd remember like "IloveGin" or "ashtray1".

     So by the time I'd eaten my last bit of pancake and washed it down with new resolve, I'd come up with a new plan.

Mail the sheets.

     Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? After taking everything off the beds, I'd shove it all in a big box and mail it to the bill collectors. After all, would they rather have a hundred dollar check, or a matching set from Bed, Bath and Beyond? As I stood in the kitchen, I laughed out loud at my own genius.

"Hmm...this one's from Mrs. Kellerman. Probably another million dollar check. Ooh, Florence, would ya look at that? Egyptian cotton. Alright, don't bill her again until 2013."

     In turn, all those useless bills would solve my sheet problem. In about an hour, I'll have two cribs lined with electric, gas and student loan bills. Next Monday, all I have to do is sweep it out and start all over again. A baby pooping on an electric bill doesn't bother me near as much as paying it, or changing a dirty sheet.
At least my paper shredder problems are solved for the time being....I think.

Until Next Time, Readers!