St. Patrick’s Day

It’s true. How could you not love an Irish girl?
We didn’t catch any leprechauns in Caroline’s trap, but I think one must have crept in and turned off my alarm last night. It surely isn’t possible that I didn’t turn it on; I NEVER forget things.
Regardless of who is to blame, I woke up at 7:20 am, which is a wee bit late for a school morning.
This less than ideal jump start out of bed and lack of time to ease into the day sure did play a heavy part in making my attitude a little less than sunny.
I don’t like being grumpy.
Neither do my housemates.
Maybe I’ll get out the grumps before it’s time to pick up Caroline.
I started out pleasantly.
We made it to school on time, I had a fun workout at the gym and I didn’t forget anything required for my daily shower. It’s not that unheard of for me to forget something important: towel, shampoo, underwear. I’ve forgotten it all.
My Body Combat instructor handed out shamrock stickers and green sugarless candy and then proceeded to deliver a beating. A merciless, yet soul satisfying beating.
It’s when I got home that my disposition changed.
How is it that even though I clean/pick up daily, our house still looks so messy?
I don’t get it.
I keep on top of things.
I sweep several times a day, don’t leave dishes in the sink and I put away things not in use.
And yet, everywhere I turn I see dust, dirt, crumbs. Legos on the floor, Legos in my bathtub, little bits of scrap paper under the chairs, pens and pencils on the stairs, a bowl of dirty rocks collected by Caroline and her croanies in the corner.
There was popcorn on my bathroom floor!?
And scratches on my black kitchen table from those aforementioned rocks.
Most of this is Caroline’s doing.
She’s cute, but has clearly inherited her dad’s inability/unwillingness to spot and then rectify a messy situation.
Lest anyone think I’m a big old shrill nag, I won’t harp on Craig.
I don’t have a qualifiable beef with him; he works long days, deals with a 3:15 wake up call and endures an 80 mile round trip commute.
Besides, I gave up hope LONG AGO that he’ll ever share my love for neatness.
Although, in the interest of complete transparency, I am a *little* put off by his mirror splattering shaving practices.
Windex and I have become inseperable friends.
Wow, I’m feeling a bit better.
Maybe it was the jelly beans I ate as I started typing this.
Whatever the reason, perhaps my frown will turn itself upside down before I go pick up Caroline.
I hope that everyone has a lovely St. Patrick’s Day.
Caroline and I read a book about him last night. He wasn’t even Irish.
He was a Roman guy who lived in England with a very interesting story.
It’s funny how a story about a Catholic priest who endured some very trying times has turned into a night of corned beef and drunken debauchery.
We’re not participating in either fashion this evening.
I’m Irish AND Italian and don’t drink.
Practically unheard of.
Edited to add: My apologies that my paragraphs aren’t breaking as they should. The enter key must be on it’s lunch break.
This is all one big blob of a paragraph. Hopefully it won’t be difficult to read.
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2 responses

  1. Hi Alison. Ever hear of Erma Bombeck? Sure you have. YOU have a delightfully distinct style of writing. I hope you make these writings become chapters in a book all your own, sooner rather than later. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

  2. You’re too kind!I have heard of Erma Bombeck and I actually remember reading a few of her books growing up. My mom is/was? a fan of hers.Blogging is a strange thing. I don’t LOVE writing, yet it’s coming easy to me.Maybe because there isn’t any pressure.No grades. No required grammatical correctness.

Yo.

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