My super awesome gym is doing another competition. What? Competition? I’m in. It’s called March Madness, we get a team of five together, we get points. So, I finally get to my swim segment for bonus points for whatever we’re playing for, we dont’ even know. But word on the streets is it’s restaurant gift certificates. If that’s the case, that’s hillarious. Because there is no where you can eat out and be healthy without ordering off the menu. And when you order off the menu, the chef and your waiter spit in your food and spike it with Visine, but anyways.
So, my teammate, Abby and I go to a water class. Granted, there’s uh, a slight senority age gap between Abby’s and my age and every other lady in the pool. Abby is very thin and trim (she’s also absolutely brilliant, hillarious, and thoughtful), and this lady I see every day in the locker room comes up to me while I’m derobing, points right at Abby and says, “Everyone saw your friend get in the pool & we’re all jealous. We think she’s too thin and in shape to be in this class.”
I say, “Really Georgine? Because you have the nicest rack here. So, we have envy too.”
She blushed and walked away. She really does have a nice rack. I’m just sayin.
I get in the water, it’s cold. I’m not happy to be here, all in the name of taking one for the team. I’m 6’3″ and I’m on my tip toes because I don’t want to sink two more inches and get more cold. Why do we do that? Like that 2″ is going to make a difference when hypothermia sets in.
Meanwhile, I see our other three team members upstairs in the workout room, waving too us. In a tone as if to say, “Hahahah, you fell for our trick to get you in the pool!” So I flipped them off. They better get our swimming points or else!
No sooner than I can get over to Abby (thanks for not leaving me to these pirrhanas) the class instructor points at us again and yells to the entire class, “We have some March Madness people here today. They are RIGHT THERE! Get Em!” What? No, she said, “So let’s show them how tough this class is.”
Okay, first she suggested we would never be here if we weren’t in this competition. Which is true. And then she suggested that well,perhaps we’re really not that welcome. Then, she’s pissed off everyone and pitted them against us by insinuating that we don’t think it’s a tough work out. And, she’s going to make everyone in the class pay. And she did. One lady out of about 30 stayed and talked to us in the hot tub when we were done and told us she was really hard today. Super. Just to jack with that group, I’m soooo going back every week. Where the hell were the donuts too? My pal Erin said they have donuts after class. She took all the water classes because she was pregnant and it was good for her. And there were donuts afterwards. I guess Abby and I being not_pregnant and under 60 probably ruined any chance of donuts.
I should mention these ladies too have their cliques, even in the water.
I suppose even the silver_haired, mature ladies can be caddy. For some ridiculous reason, I figured I’d grow out of it. So, there’s hope that I can enjoy that bitchiness of being a woman well into my retirement years. The other note to mention is they too have their cliques, even in the water.
The class itself, if done correctly, works your core pretty good. We finish, go to the hot tub and look up to see our other three team members getting their butts worked out by Lori crazy trainer. I waved, they flipped me off.
That’s how I roll.

It’s only fair to count and note the good days with the bad. Even though, the bad days as a mom, are a much better read.
Last week, I went grocery shopping. Big grocery shopping. I drop the kids off at school, head to the regular grocery store with my regular list, and then go to Sam’s Club with my Sam’s Club list. They are evenly distributed. It used to be that I just bought dog food, laundry detergent and diapers at Sam’s. Now, I find I’m buying more and more regular grocery staples like coffee, fruit, meats. These kids eat a lot. Maybe if I stopped feeding them in bulk, they’d stop growing in bulk, hmmmm.
And sometimes, when I’m done at Sam’s Club, sometimes, I go to another grocery store for particular specialty items that weren’t at the grocery store nor Sam’s. After all of that, I go home, usually just in time to get the groceries put up so that Farley the Wonderdog can’t reach them and go pick up the kids back up from school. It takes all day and I’m thankful and almost embarassed at the volume of sheer luxuries of all the groceries in the full pantry and full refrigerator.
The other day, though, I opted to take my Ipod and up the ante from grocery shopping to with the ever_present sounds of a constant child screaming a the grocery store to drowning it out with my groove. Bring it on groceries. On top of all that, I’m saving the earth with my reusable backs. I’m rocking out grocery day like nobody’s business!
I’m at Sam’s Club doing power squats with the gigantore bag of dog food while rockin to Lil Wayne. Life is good. I’m fairly certain I got my shopping done faster, didn’t forget one item on either list, and was happier for it all because of my tunes blaring in my ears.
I get all checked out, everyone is happy. And I get out to my car and see it’s leaning. I have a flat. And I’m talking a flat flat, no air. Nada in my left front tire.
I call Ricardo while I load the groceries in the car to assess my plan of action. I was just going to drive it 20 feet to the Sam’s Auto area. But Ricardo reminds me that we actually bought our tires at Sam’s. Just go back in, tell them I have a flat, and we have some roadside assistance warranty. Say what? It’s as if the grocery shopping fairies have planned my day in perfect alignment.
I go back into Sam’s tell the guy. I’m so excited that I got a flat at the exact spot we purchased the tires. This is fantastic! What a great day! The guy really doesn’t care. Not only that, but Sam’s has the cheapest lunch ever, and it’s lunch time. I can just go eat lunch while I wait on the car. What? Wait. I never have cash, and I don’t want to write a check for the $1.50 combo. Let me check my change because my purse does seem to be heavier today. Fantastic! I have $1.87! Woohoo!
I go eat. And just to help share the gift of a good day, I sit at a table next to this construction guy on his lunch break. I put my lipstick on and eat my hot dog real sultry like. Because eating a hot dog is very, very sexy. He blushes, or laughs or whatever. I get up, goget my car.
“Do you have the Chrysler Town & Country?”
“Yes. Yes I do! You jealous?”
“Uh, no ma’am. It’s ready for you. Everything was covered, just need you to sign here.”
He could have gone along with it. But I’m guessing not everyone is so happy to have a flat like I am. I sign it and hop into my car and go home.
A lot can go wrong on grocery day. Hell, I’ve thrown my back out a couple of times. You gotta get up early, stretch, apparently check the oil and tires. So, to me, it was such a treat that when poop hit the fan, I remember, my shit smells like roses. Yay!
That’s how I roll.

Ricardo and I have always said we will never move, unless we win the lottery. I suppose we’ll have to buy tickets for that. But it’s one of the things we love to talk about, dream outloud, after we’re done talking about our feelings ofcourse, on long road trips.
Still, every now and then, you’ll find us talking about our dream home. We love our house we are in now. And what we don’t love, we’ve changed _ a couple of times.
Ricardo suggested we could design our own home (tall ceilings, laundry on the bedrooms level, kitchen with a Rosie, the robot maid in it). We’d hire someone to build it.
Ricardo thought about it for a while and then, “We won’t have to tile, or paint, or put bamboo on the ceiling.” Long pause and glaring stare and then, “Or take bamboo off the ceiling.”
Hey even the greatest design ideas outlive their welcome, I suppose. The bamboo was cool for our beach cabana basement. But one thing that will never get old is chocolate. Right?
“Can I take my chocolate label backsplash with us?”
Eyes roll. “Sure.”
I’m guessing we didn’t win last night. But that guy loves me. For sure.
And that’s how we roll.

When it rains wholesome goodness at the zoo, it pours. So, after our fantastic behind_the_scenes_tour at the zoo, the very next weekend, the kids and I went to a campout at the zoo.
I just assumed we’d rough it on the floor with our sleeping bags at the aquarium. I’m a genius for setting up this “camp out” and and checking that off the adventures of a kid to_do list before summer even rolls around all while sneaking in indoor plumbing. There’s other places at the zoo to campout _ the Desert Dome and the Jungle, both with dirt floors. There’s a reason I went with the aquarium _ all the animals are behind glass, and it’s got a carpeted floor. And it also fell on the same weekend as Ricardo’s ManWeekend, so it’d be something for the kids (and me) to be distracted with while daddy is gone.
But then one of my teammates at the gym told me her mom took her kids to this campout gig. And to not even bother taking snacks because they don’t allow them at the zoo due to cockroaches. As a cockroach veteran, growing up near Houston, believe me when I say, should I see one more cockroach ever in all of my life, it’ll be a little bit too soon. I even went as far as to take out all the gum and cough drops out of my purse for this slumber in the slums. GAWD, what have I done? I ran straight to get air mattresses to elevate my body 6″ off the bug infested ground. Give them something to work for if they’re going to crawl up to me and my kids. I’ll protect you kids! Sort of.
FYI pal at the gym who’s mom took her kids to the campout _ my kids sat and watched all 63 other campers snack on popcorn, juice boxes, chips, candy, cake and cupcakes as well as several other roach attracters. It turns out, the roaches (and bats) are located and come out for play in the Jungle, not so much in the aquarium. Well, that’s where they make their reputation known, at least. “And tell Leslie, we’ll see her at the pygmy hippopatumus exhibit _ at the strike of midnight.” <<< Read in mobster cockroach tone.
So, now I’m going into this knowing there’s not a 16 foot snake in the basement _ oh no, I stand corrected _ he’s grown to 21 feet, 202 pounds. And there’s actually not a cockroach problem in the aquarium per se, but no the doubt has been set, there’s probably a few running around _ what with all those snackers I just saw. Still bucking up for the sake of my kids.
We got checked in and went on our night hike through the zoo. Really, it’s so fun to cruise through the zoo with a tour guide, learning all kinds of facts and stories, and we actually went through the jungle at night. With 7 exhillerated kids, the tour guide had the nerve to explain that the fruit bats are very active at night. What? No, wait, there’s bats in the Desert Dome, not in the Jungle.
“Well, not exactly. We have fruit bats that live freely in the jungle, they only really come out at night.” She turns to the kids who’ve just ingested rootbeer floats and with a much more educational lecture than I can remember “Now, the fruitbats’ sonars get thrown off by loud noises (Like seven 6_10 year_olds high on sugar at 9p.m. kind of loud noises?) so we have to be quiet. But they fly high, so really, all that should be a problem are the tall people….” She looks right at me, assesses what I already have, that I’m the tallest person in the group, and gives up the lecture and heads into the jungle. I walked through the entire tour, hunched over, in the dark awaiting the crunch of roaches under my shoes and protecting my precious head from the bats. Kids, isn’t this fun!?
By the time we got back to the aquarium, played some games, ran through the aquarium hanging out with the penguins and the sharks and sting rays, it was 11p.m. until we finally got to our designated sleeping area. I chose (and convinced the kids it was best) a spot in front of these cool moon jellyfish. When JulzHolla! and I take the kids to the zoo, we find our zen at the moon jellyfish. They glow and float and someone’s turned on some relaxing new age music to soothe all mothers chasing their kids through the aquarium. God bless the zoo music therapy department.
The kids were a bit pissed off that I had the audacity suggest such atrocities as “Lay down and watch the pretty jelly fish float and drift off to sleep.” But my kids function on two strict schedules: sleep and food. The last time one of them stayed up til 11p.m. was never. As they settle down, I have time to reflect on the rage of sleep deprivation of a 6_year_old I’m about to enjoy…times two.
Just as soon as I close my eyes, I am awakened by the fruit_bats_will_probably_hit_your_head tour guide. I wake up the kids happy that I never even had time to worry or assess a plan if Monty _ the 21 foot aggressive eating python down in the basement _ gets one of my kids for lunch.
We got up for our 6a.m. morning hike. And if you’ve been around me at 6a.m., you know that I’m a perky and annoying. It’s the perfect personality for a morning hike with my kids. It got us through the zoo, happy to greet the lions and tigers and bears. Oh My! By 9a.m. we were headed home, ready to see daddy at home. (Translation _ hand off kids, shower, and sneak in a nap.)
I’m pretty sure I’ve ruined my children. Now, they think sleeping at the zoo is the norm. We’re already talking about our next trip. If you have the opportunity to do this, it’s so cool. Use your kids as an excuse to camp out at the zoo. That’s why I had kids, so I could do all this cool kid stuff.
That’s how I roll.

Childhood buddies have so much in common. Until they grow up and have kids of their own. A lot of times, the difference of opinion hits at marriage and then child rearing. But my oldest and dearest (since we were 3 years old)pal, Beck. I got this email from her and it really made me love her a little more. Feel closer to her at her brilliance and coping mechanisms to indeed, laugh in the face of adversity. I just really like that she was creative, funny, got pix of the ever growing and changing kids, and hopefully, brought a smile to her husband’s face. And everyone else put make up on and took plain jane smiley pix.
I know now that she too is married to her soul mate. Someone who gets her, and who laughs with her, and maybe even sometimes at her.With her permission granted, I wanted to share with you, the joys of my sisterhood circle of being a fellow Mom On The Rocks. This photo essay has secured our friendship for years to come. I worry about my friend with three kids who’s husband has been deployed for 8 months. It’s good to see that indeed, she’s okay…sort of.
From Beck:
This all started because the squadron spouses make a giant calendar (about the size of a double bed sheet) that hangs in the squadron’s ready room on the ship. Each spouse decorates a “square” (even though they may be any shape) with pictures of their family. I am not very crafty or artistic, so I could never make a “pretty” square. But mostly, Jesse and I love to laugh with each other (or at each other!) and I knew that the best way for me to show him how much I love and miss him was to make him smile.
On one of his previous cruises a few years ago I started posing funny pictures of me and the dogs to put on the calendar. This was our first cruise with kids, so I got them in on the action this time around. At first I had to bribe them with cookies to get them to cooperate, but within a few months, they were really excited to take “funny pictures for Daddy” and no bribery was needed.
My overall idea was to show how I was totally losing control of the kids and just losing my mind in general _ I know…not much of a stretch!
Jesse comes home in less than a month (woo_hoo), and we just shipped off the last calendar. He told me that the other guys in the squadron think his wife is “not right in the head” _ so I guess I’ve done my job well!
Hope you like them and thanks to all those who helped me pull these off.
Love,
Beck
Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…I’ve got it all under control!!
Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…I’m handling your absence beautifully!
Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…the kids are really starting to respect my authority.
(“War Party Rocks” is the slogan for Jesse’s squadron) Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…the kids have been in a rebellious phase, but I’m handling it just fine!
Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…I found a way to cope with your family coming for the holidays…
Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…I guess I’ll just have to think of another way to keep those brats quiet!
Don’t worry about things at home, Honey…that’s the last time I let those brats cook supper!
(written in shaky kids handwriting) Dear Daddy _ it’s time to start worrying…you should probably come home now.Help us!
My only regret is that I wasn’t there to see the faces on the guys at the tattoo parlor or the psych ward nurses. Come home safely, Jesse.
That’s how we roll.

I don’t know if my mass audience is aware, we have a little gem here in Omaha _ the Zoo. I’ve browsed polls that say it’s second or third in the country for best most kick ass zoo. It has the world’s largest indoor rainforest. They also have the worlds largest aviary to the public, one of the largest aquariums and gorilla exhibits. Every single exhibit is like nothing you’ve ever seen before, brilliantly planned for animals to cohabitate in an assimilated environment. If possible, you never see a fence. As a scrapbooking mom, the money shots for the scrapbooks are incredible! Seriously, y’all _ I heart our zoo.
We’ve had a membership since we moved here. I keep waiting for my kids to get sick of the zoo so I can continue to force it on them with very maternal comments like, “You kids don’t know how good you’ve got it here at this zoo. When I was a kid, the zoo was a puppy mill.” In the summer, we pack a lunch and go there at least once a week. Sometimes, it’s like lunch in a park with animals as far as they are concerned. Still, we love the zoo. And we go a lot. And they still love it, so I will continue to use it as one of my best mommy resources.
This year, I signed them up for a few day camps. Then I noticed that they are old enough for a campout in the aquarium. A night in the aquarium, all to ourselves? Once I realized I could take the kids while Ricardo was at his ManWeekend, I was sold. It’ll be a great deterrant, and mommmy will be the coolest mommy in all the land. Let’s effn do this!
The week before our campout, we got a behind_the_scenes tour of part of the zoo, one being the aquarium, from one of my students who works there. It was extremely eye_opening of the animals that aren’t in exhibits. We got to go down into the basement of the aquarium and learn all about the water reserve and stuff, we round a corner and I see my kids running toward a glass window with the biggest snake I’ve ever seen. In my head I yelled, “SHIT!” but I’m guessing outloud it translated to something very responsible like “YIKES!” Then I flinched and ran the other way, leaving my children for bait. Apparently, Monty, the python, is an 18 foot, 200 pound snake that is an aggressive eater. His buddy, MacNCheese, an albino python only slightly smaller hasn’t been eating his rats well. So, they took them both off exhibit, and keep them in the basement of the aquarium. Interesting to the commoners of the world. However, I’ll be sleeping above these eating_disordered snakes in a week. Super. Thankfully, my kids are pretty skinny, and I’m guessing a snake of this size would need a more meaty kid.
After we toured the basement, we went above the giant water tanks. And, it was shark feeding time. We never get to the aquarium at feeding time on a regular day, and here we are, above the tunnel, fins violently swishing in the water, with zoo keepers standing at the tanks with fish on a pole feeding them. So exciting! It was so hands_on in fact _ Lucy got a little too close to the edge, it made me a little nervous. A shark swam by assessed, again that my kids are too skinny, and then swam over to the fish on the pole instead. Sting rays are going by, the sea turtle named Bubbles waddles by. It’s absolutely incredible to see it all at this angle.
And that’s when Max comes running over to me and says, “MOMMY LOOK! PEOPLE!” All this crazy fascinating behind the scenes stuff to look at and see, and Max sees the people going through the tunnel below us. Can’t wait to see what the campout excitement is all about.
That’s how I roll.

Last night, Ricardo left for a Man weekend.
But it’s not yet the weekend, you say. Yes, but it’s also March Madness. So, indeed _ Man Weekend. Trust me, I will see his Man Weekend and raise it with a sweet Girl Trip. I’m tallying up the score until then. Because I’ll be gone for the same length of distorted weekend.
I really want him to take some time and go have some funtime…at a basketball tourney, not at a strip club. Still, as good as I am with it, and as long as I’ve known about it, for some reason, his leaving caught me off guard. Seemed abrupt. And I miss him. Poor me.
After he left, I got the kids in bed and decided to drown my sorrows _ my longing for my man _(he’d been gone approximately 1 hour) in cookies. So, I got my emergency cookie dough reserve out. The kids have no idea it exists. I make a gigantic bowl of cookie dough, bake two cookies each for them, and then save the rest for me. They have no clue. I am brilliant, for sure. So, I get the cookies in the oven and sit down to surf the web and watch tv and numb myself from the absence of Ricardo. Woe is me. When the timer for the cookies in the oven goes off. Whoopeee! I set the laptop down, hop off the chair and hurry up to the kitchen.
That’s when I short step one of two steps up into my kitchen and fell, whacking my knee on to the corner of very hard and apparently very durable kitchen tile while my toes seem to be broken guessing from the fiery pain. I’d kicked and bent the toes back all at once on the lower step. The kids do this at least once a week, and it always sounds horrific. They just hop right up and get back to playing. Not me. That effn hurts, y’all! Ofcourse, I have an extra 100 pounds of force driving my knee into crushing pain. Fine, 125 pounds on them. But still.
I must have yelped in pain, because my son sacrificed his good name _ he should have been asleep _ to ask if I was okay. Right before I was about to yell at him to go to bed, I thought to walk to the bottom of the stairs and ask what he said because I couldn’t hear from the continuous yelping still, in my head.
Some what hesitant at this point, because he should have been asleep, “I….just….uh…Are you okay, Mom? It sounded like you hurt yourself.”
What a guy. Sigh. “I’m okay, babe. I just fell on that step and hit my knee like you guys do sometimes.”
“That really hurts. Are you bleeding?”
By then I was up in his room, sharing a bonding moment of comparison of wounds. I showed him my knee. It wasn’t much to look at. I promised him we could look at it tomorrow and see if it swelled up.
“Cool! I’m glad you’re okay.”
I still ate the cookies. However, I think what made me feel better is that my son is looking after me while Ricardo was gone.
That’s how I roll.

Max’s Kindergarten teacher got engaged. While I was volunteering, she came up and showed me her ring. And although she just wanted to tell me and show me her ring. Since her ring is bigger than mind, I obliterated her with unsolicited, but still brilliant wedding advice.
“Aw _ you got engaged and you want me to be a bridesmaid!?”
No?
“Oh, the kids _ yes, I still have their ring bearer and flower girl dress. But they won’t fit in them long. When is the wedding?”
Oh, you don’t want them in your wedding? You’re sticking to your own family? Well, that blows. But congrats and all.
I then proceeded to explain wedding theory one: The shorter time you have to plan a wedding, the less you will spend.
Theory two caught her off guard, but is well_lived and well_proven.
“Hunny, when you’re up late laying next to your husband _ you’re breastfeeding on one boob while the other is leaking. It’s just really not going to matter whether you got the Italian wedding cake or the chocolate cake with raspberry filling for your wedding cake.”
Awkward pause from newly engaged and childless aquaintance while she tries to figure out exactly what “leaking from a boob” means.
“Well,” she says, “I never really thought of it that way.”
They never do. That’s what I’m here for.
You are welcome.
When I go to a wedding, I go for two reasons. First, it’s fun to be reminded of our wedding and that we’re actually still sticking to the promises we made to each other. (And I looked FANTASTIC). And second, I go for the cake. I’m not judging your selection of cake at your wedding, I just want some cake. Preferrably a corner piece with extra icing.
That’s how I roll.

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with a friend. He was an older gentleman and was having a hard time with his son. It seemed his son was financially strapped, again. And son had asked my friend to help him out, again. My friend struggled because he loves his son, but he’s not teaching him anything by giving him the money. I pleaded with him to just tell his son NO. My friend didn’t really have the money to give him anyways, but was willing to go find it, even dipping into his recently dwindled retirement and cashing it all in for his son.
Still, I pleaded, “Please, Bob. Tell him no. You owe him no further explanation. Just No.”
But Bob couldn’t stand it because his son has kids. And he feels he needs to make sure his grandkids are okay.
I tried to explain (Because I’m fairly passionate on this issue.) That by giving the money, he’s only showing his grandchildren to be savvy in asking for handouts rather than earning them. That it would only be a matter of time before his son would be back, asking for more money. And then he explained further that he owes his son because maybe he failed him in his childhood somewhere that he can’t be all grown up now and provide for his own family.
And instead of giving him cash. How about you walk his lame ass down to the bank and pay the bills for him? That way, you know where the money is going.
Which takes me to so many families’ struggles. It seems like there’s one in every bunch. Thankfully, it’s not me. Because I was told NO at a very early age.
Every night on a little show called INTERVENTION, we watch addict after addict after addict be saved from their enabling families as well as their addictions. What’s the golden ticket to why each addict says they’ll go to treatment? Cuz mommy and daddy went and got someone (and a camera) to help them tell their kid NO. Seriously.
So, here we are with Bailouts. America, the Land of Enabling. And if we don’t bail them out, it’ll be a catastrophe for us all. I’m not a master of economy, which is why I’ve not yapped about this here. But really, why not let them fall and someone else capitalize on their own new franchise? How about some accountability.
Nah, let’s lend AIG some money. And a few months later look shocked when they not only need money again, but that they handed out bonuses. Seriously y’all. Just learn a lesson to all those other mismanaged piss ant gazillion dollar businesses and the people who lend our money to them. OFCOURSE AIG and giants like them say we’re going to all suffer if we let them fall. Just like the ol kid who said “but Dad, if you don’t lend me the money, your grandchildren will suffer.”
“Well, here son, here’s some money, and here’s a BONUS for being such a stellar success story and helping our family prosper.”
Let AIG fall. We’ll all take the hit, like a big fat dysfunctional family. We enable them and take the fall over and over again, or we stop the insanity and take the fall just once.
You know, when my kids screw up and we have to leave a store early, we leave. And if Lucy’s the one that screwed up, Max and Mommy pay the price on losing out on the fun too. And I can’t remember the last time it’s happened. Because I told them no. So they quit doing it. They are perfect and it’s all my doing!
That’s how I roll.

Is it a bit irrational that I’ve considered taking all of the clothes dressers out of each of our rooms and move them to the laundry room? Is that wrong? A little too much? Over the top?
I’ve spent most of last week at home. I’ve been consciensously trying to not go out and spend money, because there is plenty to do here. Still, I found myself online spending money. But when I’m not on the computer, I’m moving things like toys and shoes _ particularly laundry. It’s a vicious cycle really. Take clothes out of hamper, down to to laundry room. Sort, wash, dry. Take upstairs to couch and fold. Take back up to the dressers.
If I just have the dressers down to the laundry room, then the kids and Ricardo have to do all the work up and down the stairs. Wake up. Shower, run down stairs to laundry room, suit uup for the day. Drop pj’s in laundry. Do it again at night. Right?
I’m trying to decide if it’s laziness, or if this is really a domesticated engineering gone right. But it’s taken me a week to write this, so I’m back to starting all over again on the laundry today, so it’s starting to sound like a brilliant idea.
My aunt has designed her house so that her washer and dryer are behind a door off her master suite. Brilliant. But I’d have to lose the shower for that at my house. So, maybe the dressers down in the basement more feasible.
That’s how I roll.