Jan. 25th, 2011

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Why do I find complicated arithmetic so soothing?
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My husband did the unforgivable tonight. He bought jam. Because it was on sale. "See!" he crowed. "I got the kind you like for making danish!" There were two jars of that in the pantry already (along with four jars of other flavors, plus the two half-empty jars in the fridge).

No one is making danish in this house this week, because just last week, after baking in the presence of my children, I determined (experientially) that flour is the messiest household substance there is and that I will not be using any more of it. Also, my vacuum cleaner is not particularly effective (because someone may possibly have stuffed a pancake in one of the hoses), and the lady I pay to clean the house (who brings her own vacuum cleaner) has broken her ankle, and god only knows when she will bless us again. While she's out, we have to do our own chores. You can't imagine the peril and horror of it.

To avenge myself against my spouse, I decided to toss the compost in the outside garbage. (We're scorched earth, unforgiving types in this marriage.) I cleaned the whole kitchen to make sure it appeared reasonable. He is going to be aghast, but here's the thing: We haven't been able to open the back door to get to the compost bin in a week and a half. We're supposed to get another eight inches of snow tomorrow. I don't know what the reasonable statute of limitations is for allowing a pineapple to moulder behind the kitchen sink, but I am damn certain that it expires *well* before the next expected thaw. Because the previous owners, who rehabbed the house, were determined to create a kitchen as difficult to clean as humanly possible (we have carpet, and don't even ask me about the sink), it took an hour and a half. The kitchen now looks as though someone reasonably could make danish here (or, alternatively, as though no preschoolers have tried to help with anything in the recent past). I love it. But in order to accomplish this, I had to bring toys to the living room and put them away with my eyes closed, lest I start the violently needed cleaning there and pass out before I reached the point in the kitchen at which removal of the compost might appear logical instead of vindictive.

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