Woulda Coulda Shoulda

I enjoy order and predictability. Having a kid on the spectrum has made The Schedule even more important to my life—he just plain functions better when he knows exactly what will be happening when. It’s easier to get his cooperation when things are planned.

And so it came to pass that every Saturday I call for the children to bring their hamper downstairs, and every Sunday afternoon I announce that I need the basket of clean clothes put away (if they haven’t been already) and the basket should be returned to me, emptied, before dinner. This seems to work out pretty well; the children never run out of clean clothes, I am able to keep track of things like when all of Chickadee’s socks have mysteriously disappeared or when Monkey’s undies are starting to unravel (“They’re fine!” he assures me, gamely modeling a too-small pair that fits like a thong and has a tail of elastic sweeping out behind him) and such.

I am constantly reading blogs wherein people claim to do two or three loads of laundry EVERY DAY. Who ARE you people? Do you only own two outfits each? Do you wash every towel every time it gets used? Do you wash each pair of jeans individually? You confuse me. (more…)

With everything else that’s been going on, I forgot to tell you the MOST EXCITING NEWS EVER about my new eye doctor. I know, you thought today was going to be a boring old Monday and here I am with this SCINTILLATING story. Because everyone knows that eye doctor visits are the stuff legends are made of! Yes!!

Okay, maybe not. But I did go to a new eye doctor.

I hadn’t been in over three years, if you don’t count my last few sorry attempts to wear contact lenses. I figured I’d learned my lesson that score, anyway; I just wanted to get an updated prescription and some new glasses.

I picked a nearby optical place I’d heard good things about, and went in for my appointment. It didn’t start off well; someone called my name and brought me back into a room and started adjusting things and telling me to look here and look there and give her my glasses, and she never introduced herself. I am definitely becoming southern because I was kind of offended by that. Bless her heart. (more…)

Let me preface this by saying that the following can obviously be filed under “first world problems;” the fact that I have more than a battered tin pot in which to boil gruel means that none of this actually matters, but that’s not going to stop me from rambling on about it, anyway. You’ve been warned.

I am probably better at recalling the various cooking implements from my past than I am at conjuring memories of past boyfriends. This may be because cooking is more meaningful to me, or it may be because I have a weird memory. Hard to tell. I’m guessing it’s okay with Otto, though, as being regaled with tales of “that old frying pan I should’ve kept” may be kind of boring, but at least he never has to wonder if I’m mentally comparing our life together to amazing pie I once baked, or whatever. (Please note my restraint! I first had something here about comparing handles and then I thought better of it! Except… oh. Whoops.)

The thing is, we recently bought some new pots and it made me realized that I think I might be having a midlife cooking crisis. Does that even exist? I think it might. (more…)