Aug 232009

The other night when Craig got home from work, I went to the bookstore to blow off some steam. Not a bar called The Bookstore…the actual book store. Borders. I know, somebody stop me.

Anyway…I’m sitting in the café with my latte and a pile of classic novels that I plan to start reading just as soon as I get caught up on the Gosselins…when I notice this guy across the cafe staring at me.

Here was my first thought:

OH MY GOSH maybe he recognizes me from the blog!!! Maybe I am ACTUALLY FAMOUS but I am just so humble and grounded that I don’t evenknow it. But then I remembered that the only two men who read my blog are my dad and my neighbor Pablo, and this guy didn’t look like either of them.

So my next thought was this:


And then, while I was mentally rehearsing how to relay this story to Craig, thus proving my desirability beyond a shadow of a doubt, the guy stood up and started walking toward me.

Oh, no. Oooooooh noooooooo. I am secretly terrified of boys.

“Excuse me ma’am? Ma’am? I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“Umm…that’s okay.”

“I just thought you might want to know. When you went to get your drink I couldn’t help but notice that you have stickers all over your back. There’s like twenty of them back there.”

Thank you, Tish. Thank you very much.

Aug 232009

Ah…it’s Sunday. The day I don’t blog, launder, sweep, or cook -you know, out of love for Jesus. And utter exhaustion.

Today however, I must break my Sunday rule. Because something happened yesterday that I can’t NOT tell you about.

Yesterday, I sneaked out of the house at the crack of dawn to go to the grocery store. I don’t even change out of my pajamas to do errands anymore… it has come to that. I just brush my teeth, grab my purse and I’m out the door. Okay, I don’t always brush my teeth, but I use mouthwash every time.

So as I’m walking up and down the grocery aisles, I notice this distinct, mildewy, putrid odor following me. And I keep looking around for the responsible party, until I discover that she is me. I stink.

When I get home, Craig rolls out of bed to help me with the groceries and I say “Honey, smell me. I stink.” And he sniffs my shirt and says without surprise, “Yes, you do.” And I say “Well, what IS that? It’s disgusting.” And he says the following:

“It’s mildew. All our clothes smell like that. We always stink.”

I’ll just give you a few seconds to digest that information. I know I needed a little time.


“I was scared to tell you. You get sensitive about….housekeeping stuff.”

“Oh. So let me clarify here. You’d rather reek all day at work and allow Chase to be THE STINKY KID IN CLASS than risk me getting mad?

Yes. Yes, I would. Definitely.”


I left the groceries on the counter and immediately drove back to the store to buy some fancy detergent, the kind that costs more than five dollars. I smelled them all until I found one that reminded me of flowers and every popular girl I’d ever met. Then I came back home and started washing each Old Navy t-shirt, Dora panty, and pair of yoga pants in this house. I’m still not done.

I learned two very important things yesterday, and I’d like to share them with you, just in case you are in the Laundry and Wife Remedial Classes, like I am.

#1. Okay- this is, apparently, how laundry works. Say your laundry day is Wednesday. You cannot put the laundry in the washer on one Wednesday, and then wait to put it in the dryer until the following Wednesday. You must finish it all on the SAME Wednesday. It’s unfair, but true. If you don’t, your family will smell like dead mice.

#2. You must be sweeter to your husband so he is not afraid to tell you that your entire family reeks.


Housekeeping and marriage are complicated.

Aug 212009

I took the kids to Taco Bell for dinner last night. At a special all-organic one near my house.


We pulled up to the drive -thru and just as I rolled down the window to order, Tish screamed “I WANTED CHICK-FIL-A!” and burst into tears. Then Amanda started her ear-shattering hyena shrieks, you know, because Tish was crying, so why not? I looked at Chase, the last Melton standing, and he gave me his signature stoic expression – the one that means he’s mentally counting the years till he leaves for college. It had been a long day.

I screamed our order above the minivan mayhem. After we paid, the tired man behind the window handed me our…food, for lack of a better word. I looked inside and saw that our order –much like the day – was all wrong. And then my kids watched me throw the bag on the passenger seat, sigh loudly, roll my eyes, and drive off without saying thank you or goodbye to the tired taco man.

I am finding it hard to think enlightened thoughts about myself this morning. Because I have this nagging suspicion that maybe the Taco Bell man’s right to respect, patience and decency should have trumped my imaginary right to a perfectly assembled fast food meal in two minutes or less.

Perhaps I need to stopchanneling my daily frustrations into utter disgust at people like poor taco man for unforgivable transgressions such as providing me mild instead of medium hot sauce. I have decided: that is not sweet. In fact, it’s actually pretty mean – even meaner than giving me the wrong sauce.

I would like to be someone who is not mean, so this weekend I am going to practice. Only, of course, on people who don’t deserve mean, like Mr. Bell.

As for the Melton Girls, so help you God, I will turn this car around.