Category — She Works Hard for the Money

I have this thing with my mouth.

No, not herpes. And get your mind out of the gutter. Jesus.

I’m a chewer. A chomper. I destroy pens, chomp endlessly on ice cubes, chew gum. I smoked for 15 years.

Point is, I release stress by chomping on things — including food. Sadly, I’m not one of those people that gets all sick to my stomach, loses my appetite and upchucks when I get stressed. Oh no, I run straight for the fridge. I think I’m the only bride that got fat before my wedding.

Right now, I’m experiencing some epic stress. We got the final approval papers from the bank on our short sale. The buyer has already put money into escrow. We have a closing date.

But…

But it’s all still pending the home inspection, which happens tomorrow at 9:30 a.m. Until we’re assured that the buyer still wants the place once he gets written proof of all the things wrong with the house, we can’t put down a deposit on a rental house.

NOT that we’ve had any luck finding anything we can afford that we would actually live in. We’ve looked at probably eight houses and so far, we’ve seen some crack dens and a couple of shoe boxes.

Basically, I have no fucking clue what’s going to happen with our house or where we’re going to live and it is driving. me. MAD.

Will we have to put the house back on the market? Foreclose? Will we end up moving when I’m gigantically pregnant? Will we be forced to move into a shitbox because we can’t find some place safe that also includes an intact roof and floor?

I don’t know.

So yeah. Stress. Want to eat. A lot. Can’t sleep. Going insane. Praying to a little plastic statue of St. Joseph that I buried upside down in my backyard.

This is not a rational person speaking here.

Luckily, there’s banana bread and M&Ms and Heath ice cream.

When my husband and I bought our house five and a half years ago, we were, like many first-time home buyers, horribly clueless.

Oh sure, I’d spent three months glued to HGTV. But back then, I wasn’t paying attention to (or they didn’t even have) shows like “House Hunters,” “Property Virgins,” “Holmes on Homes” or “My First Place.” Nooooo. I was watching useless crap like “Divine Design” and “Color Splash” — shows that provided approximately zero help in the home-buying process.

But I learned oh-so-much about faux finishes for bathroom walls!

We felt a tremendous amount of pressure to buy immediately. We were moving for our jobs and it was the peak of the housing market. It was the era of multiple bids and pending contracts within hours of a house being listed. Our boss had us convinced that we needed to BUY BUY BUY or we’d be living in a VAN down by the RIVER.

And of course, we knew everything so we didn’t dare ask our elders their opinions.

Our Realtor was of no help, either. She was acting as the agent for a bunch of us at the same company and was just raking in the commissions. She didn’t give a shit what we bought — we were just a guaranteed check in her bank.

Anyhow, the  house we bought was the last of eight we viewed. We kind of had an idea that it needed some upgrades, but weren’t too concerned because we loved the location: close to downtown and our jobs, 15-minutes to the beach, quiet street in an established neighborhood. We figured you can always change the kitchen, but you can’t change the location.

Boy oh boy, were we clueless. Because a new roof is fucking expensive, yo.

Problems started before we even moved in. The house was tented for termites. They said something about some damage to the doors and shed. A leak in the patio that never quite stopped. A pool pump that blew out before our first year was up. A roof that, we realized too late, was horribly outdated and very expensive to upgrade. Kitchen cabinets that fell off the hinges. A pool screen that tore at the slightest breeze. Plumbing issues. Terrible energy efficiency. Damp closets. Dented gutters.

The list goes on.

Over the years, our house has fallen into a state of . . . well, shit. Less than a year after moving in, we lost our high-paying jobs that got us into this mess in the first place. We really started living leaner and couldn’t scrape up money to do renovations as we’d hoped. We did what we could, but the toilet wouldn’t fill back up. The sink constantly clogged. The windows wouldn’t lock. The kitchen sink drained into the dishwasher. And was that Styrofoam acting as a shade on the hall lights???

Why hadn’t we noticed this stuff when we bought the place? And, more disturbingly, why hadn’t this come up in the home inspection? Why hadn’t the Realtor clued us in on these very expensive house repairs and upgrades?

Then I got pregnant. With twins. I went on maternity leave at 28 weeks. I didn’t deliver until 38 weeks and stayed home for nine weeks after that. We forged by on my disability pay.

We’ll make it, we thought. The cars are just about paid off. We have no credit card debt. We’ll budget.

Then my job was downsized and we couldn’t afford full-time daycare on a part-time salary. I was basically forced to quit and stay home with the kids, instantly bringing our income down by almost half.

Oh yeah, and the market and economy took a gigantic dump and our house lost about 70% of its inflated value.

So here we sit, with our house on the market as a short sale and an ever-growing list of things wrong with it.

For example, on a single day this week, the following happened:

• The kitchen sink clogged, backed up into itself and overflowed the dishwasher, spilling sulphuric swamp stench all over the kitchen floor and forcing me to call a plumber.
• The roof started leaking in the middle of the house. During rainy hurricane season. In Florida.
• A large chunk of one of our trees blew off during a storm and landed just feet from our new minivan.

Sometimes, I’m convinced we have some kind of hex on us. Back in 2004, Hurricane Frances hit our rental house in Gainesville, downing a tree onto the back part of the house and flooding the entire place. The house was declared uninhabitable. We lived in a hotel for a week and had to find a new place to live.

Oh, and I drove Chris’ new car into a pseudo-lake-thing that had formed as a result of the hurricane flooding.

It was epic.

Anyhow, I’m freaking out that this house won’t sell. I mean, who the hell buys a house that has rain dripping onto the sofa and a front door that barely opens because of termite damage?

And if the house doesn’t sell soon, that means serious upheaval when I’m either massively pregnant or horomonally unstable after birth.

Either that or foreclosure. Which would be a real blast!

So yeah. I hate bringing this stuff up because it just is what it is. We made a pricey mistake, we learned a lot and we’ll hopefully do better next time. Nothing we can do now but hope and wait and clean the house when someone wants to see it — which is a pretty hilarious concept when you have twin toddlers destroying everything in their path.

But in the meantime, can someone figure out what the hell this curse is that we’re carrying around and let me know what kind of chicken semen I need to eat to get rid of it?

I have a serious, non-ironic-about-gender-stereotypes-etc., question:

How do you run your household?

You give me a single project and tell me to own and love it, I can do it. But give me a department to run and it’s going under.

The problem here is that running an house is like managing a department of some sort. Maybe not anything super important, like IT or accounting. But something like …. human resources? Because we’re humans and we’re like resources?

I have no idea. But this department is definitely not meeting quotas and whatnot.

The main topic of this post is cooking. Didn’t see that one coming, did you? We blow a depressing amount of money on take-out food. The girls almost always eat at home, but by the time they’re in bed and the day is done, I’m beat. I go through fits and spurts, but for the past few months we’ve been eating out probably four to five times a week.

(And don’t tell me to eat with my kids. Who the hell over the age of eight eats dinner at 5 p.m.???)

Anyhow. That’s a lot of money. And money is something we definitely don’t have to burn. Especially since we’re planning to finally take our honeymoon in two years, and by golly, that’s one project I WILL manage to achieve.

Vacation. Vacation. Vacation.

Oh, and the whole short-selling-the-house and three-kids-on-one-income things. Those are a real financial drain, too.

I’m trying to say that I’ve rededicated myself to cooking at home again, and I didn’t set my sights low, either. I decided to plan out a month’s worth of meals.

Note the key words there: Plan. In advance. A month.

Naturally, I don’t expect myself to actually succeed at this for a full 30 days, but I’m going to try, by god.

Vacation. Vacation. Vacation.

So, back to my question: How the hell do you do this? I’ve planned four days so far and I’m exhausted. How do you do that whole thing where you buy your groceries once a week and know exactly what to buy and the chicken lasts three days for three different meals and there are coupons and stuff?

I go to the store as often as four days a week to buy food as needed and there’s never anything to eat here except 18 bags of chip crumbs, some dented cans of crushed pineapple and three gallons of olive oil.

If I can make dinner with these ingredients, let me know. Otherwise, share your household management tips. Please. Even if you don’t have any. A mutual lack of housewifery skills will at least make me feel better.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my job as a stay-at-home mom.

I purposely don’t put quotes around the word “job,” even though every feminist instinct in me wants to. Because hey, this gig doesn’t pay jack shit, and doesn’t a “real” “job” bring in a paycheck? Isn’t my worth as a contributing member of this family tied to my annual salary, my gainful employment — or lack thereof?

As the girls get older, my job gets harder. If I were still who I was five years ago, I’d look at my current job description of SAHM and laugh at myself. Stay at home? Mom? Uh, EASY. No obligatory bathing (myself), no dressing up for work, no bureaucratic red tape, no makeup, no high heels, no non-ergonomic chairs, no middle management, no client calls, no 12-hour days behind a desk.

Stay-at-home moms just play all day, zone out on soaps, burn food, sleep in and give up on any attempt at cleanliness or self-esteem.

In the words of the Rolling Stones, a permanent vacation.

But becoming a SAHM has been extremely difficult, emotionally and financially. I expected the finances to be tough. I was a little surprised at all the emotions that arose. But what I didn’t expect was the actual fact that staying at home and raising kids is freaking HARD.

Here’s my analogy:

I used to be the editor of a major tourism website. This meant I worked with designers and developers (and project managers and clients and salespeople and analysts and. . . ). If a web page wasn’t browser compliant, I would inform the developer and he/she would fix it. If I didn’t agree with the layout or design of a page, the designer and I would talk it out. If sales wasn’t happy with click-through or ad positions, we would meet to talk about ad placement and cross-promo opportunities.

In other words, if I told someone to do something, they either did it or talked it out with me to make something happen. If someone told me to do something, I either complied or argued for a rational compromise.

Not so with motherhood.

I spend a decent portion of my day talking to people who don’t speak my language. A simple “Are you hungry?” is met with “Baahelgih goaishhglc lsdlfkajsgiieeeeee!”

I tell someone to do something, and they take off running in the opposite direction, laughing and farting with glee.

I try to explain the simplest of tasks (“Do NOT put the fork IN YOUR EYE.”), point out the most logical of conditions (“When you throw your blankie on the floor, you no longer have your blankie in your hand; you want the blankie in your hand. You WANT the blankie in your….OH GODDAMMIT.”), elaborate on the most evident consequences of one’s actions (“If you don’t put on your diaper, you will shit all over the floor.”).

Nothing.

You’d think these kids were being raised in a barn.

So, to anyone out there who thinks a stay-at-home mother just gets to “stay at home” . . .

Yeah. Suck it.

Two years ago today, I drove up to the mall and, before walking into Dillard’s, threw out my last half-pack of cigarettes. I’ve been smoke-free ever since.

I loved smoking. I loved the taste, the break, the relief, the habit. I loved my brand (Parliament Light 100′s). I loved the instant friends I could make just by virtue of being a smoker. I loved sitting out on the back patio during hot, humid summer nights, smoking and drinking and talking to friends.

But I got pregnant. I had to quit.

Being pregnant made quitting smoking considerably easier than I think it would have been otherwise. I felt sick all the time and the taste of a cigarette was the last thing I could handle. I relied on Commit lozenges for the worst cravings for the first couple of weeks, but mostly I would just chew 18 pieces of gum or take a short walk when I wanted to smoke.

Though I smoked for more than 15 years, it feels so foreign to me now. Sometimes I’ll get a random craving, but in general, I don’t miss smoking at all.

Part of it is health, sure. That and my kids. But another big part is just the convenience of being a non-smoker. I don’t have to panic before a plane trip or have second thoughts about seeing a long movie in the theater. I can do intense cardio exercise without getting winded. I don’t have to constantly chew gum to mask the smell. I’ve even been able to downsize my purse now that I don’t have to carry a pack of cigarettes and a lighter everywhere.

The fact that a carton would now cost me about $60 pretty much seals the deal for me. At that price, I’d be spending about $3,100 a year.

Anyhow, congratulations to me, dammit. This is one thing I’m pretty proud of.

I don’t feel like being witty, coherent or organized, but I have a bunch of would-be posts accumulating in my head so I just need to get something written.

Feel free to comment on any, all or none of the following topics:

Why won’t my children sleep?

The girls are just about 16 months old. For the past week, they have been waking up crying — no, wailing – several times during the night. The cries are so intense that we don’t wait more than 10 minutes to see if they’re going to settle down on their own. We rock, we sing, we check and change diapers, but still the waking continues.

At this point, I’ve given up on explanations. Teething apparently lasts for a decade or more. They are obviously going through tremendous developmental stages. I’m pretty sure that the growth spurt explanation is BS, because from birth to 16 years seems to be one giant growth spurt.

All I know is that I really, really enjoy kids who sleep through the night. I would like to have those children back.

OMG-GYM

I joined a gym to get away from the kids.

Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. But seriously, the crying/whining thing, and the fact that my body still resembles a mountain of melting Play-Doh even 16 months after giving birth, made me think:

• Many gyms have childcare centers.
• All gyms have exercise equipment.
• Therefore, most gyms will solve many of my problems.

This was an equation I could solve.

So far, so-so. Althea tends to start panicking after about 30 minutes, but, much to my surprise, Elise walks around like she owns the damned place.

I totally have baby fever, but I really don’t think we’re ready for another child

That’s pretty much it. We want another child, and now’s the time to take advantage of my ever-dwindling youth (and egg count). Chris isn’t getting any younger. There will never be a “right time.” There will never be enough money. So all the logical “we shouldn’t have another kid yet” excuses are semi-bunk.

But ugh. I loved being pregnant, but now that I haven’t been pregnant for a while, I really don’t want anything to do with it. The nausea, the worry, the cravings, the weight gain, the deprivation, the heartburn, the 40 fucking weeks….

Then the newborn stage. My GOD, the newborn stage.

Can’t I just give birth to a six month old who sleeps through the night?

Also, how the hell does one ever leave the house with three children and no help?

We went to Disney World — not entirely against my will

I grew up just a short distance from Disneyland in California. I know Disney. I marveled at “it’s a small world.” I grew a little and split from my chaperons to smoke behind Space Mountain. I went without chaperons and smoked wherever I wanted. I got kicked out for smoking. I got high and rode “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.” I shoplifted near the old “Jurassic Park” ride and got caught. (That one sucked.)

Then I went to college and realized what an evil machine of manufactured imagination, monetized innocence and capitalist cultivation the Disney Empire is.

But then I became a Florida resident, had kids and decided that $99 for four Disney parks was a really good deal.

So, before I knew it, this happened:

In case you’re wondering, the girls are pointing at birds. Yes, $99 and the kids like the birds. Chris is just looking hot and perfect. I, on the other hand, am just trying to suck in it, tuck my chin and hope that my newly developed brow wrinkles don’t show up in the photo too much.

I’ve hesitated to post about this because I thought it was just some random thing. But it’s lingering — no, festering– so I need to share so that I might help other clueless, first-time parents.

The girls’ first year was full of plenty of tribulation, but overall, it was relatively easy as far I imagined raising twins would be.

Now? Ummm, not so much. For the past month or so, the girls have shown that they are regular kids.

It started with some extra-needy days. Elise would whimper for attention. Althea would need to be held. Teething, I figured, or just a random needy day. Hell, I’m 32 and I still have those days.

But weeks later, I’m pretty sure this isn’t random.

Some days aren’t too bad. I have to pay more attention to one daughter over the other, or we need to get out for extra playtime to distract. My patience is tried, but not broken.

Other days, though, are exhausting. Ex. Haus. Ting.

From the moment the girls wake up until bedtime some 12+ hours later, it seems like someone is constantly crying, whining, begging and clinging. Demanding to be constantly entertained. Rejecting food and drinks. Pushing the other sister, fighting for my attention, whining for no apparent reason. They’re really starting to understand requests and directives, and they’re blatantly defying them.

It’s maddening. Yet the defiance is somehow more manageable to me than the inexplicable crying.

The inexplicable crying ALL. DAY. LONG.

When Chris checks in with me during the week and asks how the girls are doing, I try to explain to him how tenuous my nerves are:

“I’m about to lose it.”

“Incessant crying since 9 a.m. Where are you?”

“Contemplating taking a leisurely walk on I-75 during rush hour. Leaving the girls at Toys R Us.”

From my conversations with other moms, this clingy-crying stage is painfully common at this 1+- year-old mark.  Thing is, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t end.

Ever.

I like shopping.

Oh sure, I hate the part where I catch a glimpse of my dimpled ass illuminated by a flickering fluorescent light. But since I generally don’t shop for clothes, this isn’t much of an issue.

What is an issue is that I like shopping — I like to spend money in general — but I don’t have a job.

These two considerations are incompatible, as it turns out.

Shopping is a serious stress release for me, so I find ways to make it work. For a few months, I got into the very bad habit of buying things just to experience the act of buying. I would take the goods home, let them sit in a bag in our bedroom, then return the merchandise a few days later. Weird, right?

I stopped doing that, but I still needed a shopping release.  So now, I spend a decent amount of time window shopping online. I browse ‘deal of the day’ websites, mostly. I also like browsing Amazon, Baby Cheapskate and other bargain advice-type sites. I thrive on bargains, on getting a great price and saving a few bucks.

I have learned some lessons along the way:

• Don’t be immediately overcome by a great price, especially on something you wouldn’t ordinarily buy.
  I bought a pair of cute XOXO sunglasses for $14.95 from a certain site, along with $7 or $8 shipping (should have been a red flag). I normally buy $6 cheapies at a discount store, but I recongized the name brand on this sale and thought $15 seemed like a great deal. After I charged the purchase to my debit card, I did a quick Google search to see how much I had saved. Turns out, that $15 price tag was standard across all merchants selling the sunglasses — and some offered free shipping. Bogus. And speaking of shipping . . .
• Free shipping — especially free return shipping — is worth its weight in gold.
  Free shipping offers can save you anywhere from $0.99 to more than $20 per order, depending on the size/weight of what you buy. I’ve wasted enough on shipping charges that I generally won’t buy from any online merchant that charges for shipping if they charge more than a few bucks for the entire order.
• Don’t get lazy about returns or exchanges just because you didn’t buy from a brick-and-mortar.
  I’ve been guilty of this: Buying from an online retailer and being too lazy to exchange something that genuinely needed to go. Nowadays, online retailers usually need to keep up decent customer service if they want to stay credible (thank you, social networking!). If something doesn’t fit, work or meet your expectations, RETURN IT. Contact customer service and explain what’s going on. You’ll be surprised at how accommodating people can be.
• Be open to small-time online shops.
  For our DSLR, for instance, I checked over a dozen online shops. I ended up going with a smaller retailer and got the memory card, carrying case, zoom lens, and a bunch of other crap, along with free shipping, and paid at least $100 less than the next closest competitor.
• Make promo codes your friend.
  Before submitting any order online, always Google for a coupon or promo code. Don’t rely on any single source — click on a few of the search results to see what you can find. Sites like Coupon Cabin and Retail Me Not are regular stops for me, but I’ve found lots of codes on random, 1998-looking websites too.
• Try overstock/discount chains.
  Did you know that Marshall’s often has very pricey Elizabeth Arden wrinkle cream for $20 and Kate Spade bags for $30 or $40? I’ve also picked up several pair of Robeez kids’ shoes for $5 (they retail for upwards of $25 normally). You can also find expensive shoes, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, thank-you cards, headphones, iPod cases, furniture and tons more if you take some time to browse.
• Shop around.
  This seems obvious, but I probably take it to an extreme. I comparison shop for just about everything, no matter how big or small, and I don’t stop at two or three stores. I will search for days, wait for holiday sales (for retailers, even President’s Day is a reason to put shit on sale). This applies to shopping in person and online. If I don’t like the price in a store, I’ll hold off until I can compare online prices. I’m always convinced I can get it cheaper. And if I still don’t find a price I like . . .
• Hit up Craig’s List.
  We needed a new changing table pad. Did you know those fuckers are like $30??? It’s foam, for cryin’ out loud. So I checked Craig’s List and picked up a practically-new pad and cover for $15, right down the street. I didn’t have to pay tax or stand in line, and I did my part to keep excess waste out of landfills.
• Sign up for Upromise.
  Upromise is a program that saves money toward college education, whether it’s yours or your child’s. You can even use the savings  to pay off student loans. You can do a lot of comparison shopping right on the site and a certain percentage of the purchase total is set aside in a 529 or other savings plan. Even qualifying restaurant and grocery store purchases earn you a few pennies here and there. Over the past 10 months or so, I’ve saved more than $20. I know, not much, but every penny counts.

A few other tips:

• Sign up for your local chapter of Freecycle.org
• Register for deals and news from retailers you frequent
• Learn from your mistakes
• Don’t get caught up in the moment unless it’s something you NEED and you KNOW the price you see is incredible

BTW, I haven’t been paid or compensated in any way for the site mentions or advice. This is just me, being generous and awesome. Again.

If you’ve got shopping tips or confessions, please share in the comments! I’m always up for a new site or tip.

The girls are teething. Really, really teething.

With the bottom two teeth, Althea suffered badly while Elise hardly complained. As you might have guessed, Althea’s hardly bothered while Elise is a VERY miserable little baby. She purses her lips together in a way that makes it look like she has a mouthful of braces. She moans and moans and moans. She cries. She clings. She wants to nurse, then pushes me away. She wakes up several times a night.

It’s a freaking nightmare.

It’s been getting rough. This past week, I was home most all of the week, even taking care of three babies for a few days. I barely managed to shower, let alone get anything else done (well, except get busted cheating on my husband with a gnarly-looking handyman).

Cabin fever started to set in. Add to that the cries and whimpers and pain of teething, and you can just imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind. Shall I pluck my pubic hairs out, one by one, with splintered chop sticks? Or perhaps pierce my eyeballs with rusted corn-cob holders? Oh, I know! I’ll brush my teeth with some Ajax and floss with barbed wire!

One day, I was very very very close to LOSING MY SHIT. I generally stay pretty chipper and humorous with the girls, even when they’re both crying. But man, this was tugging on my last nerve.

So I went old school. I plopped the girls in the middle of the kitchen floor with some water-filled Tupperware and measuring spoons.

All day long, hugging and singing and playing and distracting, to no avail. But some measuring spoons and plastic containers? They were quiet and happy as pigs in shit for 40 minutes, until we had to tear them away for bath time. Go figure.

I’m so f’n busy. We’re so f’n busy. Most recently, I decided that, just before having family stay with us in August, it’d be a super fantastic idea to take on a serious painting/redecorating/summer cleaning (because I was way too lazy in the spring) project. It’s genuinely needed but horribly badly timed.

Do I care? No. Because I’ve got the wild hair up my ass and I’m going to get this shit done.

In order to get everything crossed off my to-do list, I needed help. Like, Man Help. Like, my husband would need to take out the power tools and break shit and have leftover parts that would keep me up at night, wondering if a pipe was going to burst or something would catch on fire due to his disdain for instruction manuals-type of help.

Problem is, the poor guy is working his ass off at his job. (Thank you thank you thank you.) He comes home and loves on me, coos at his daughters, takes his dinner dishes to the sink, then falls asleep on the couch watching soccer. Every. Single. Night.

So. My to-do list was getting desperate. And desperate times . . .

I called a handyman without telling my husband. Secret Handyman came over and gave me an estimate for all the work I wanted done. We made an appointment for him to come today to get started. I went to Lowe’s and bought all the tools. I transferred money from the remaining pennies in my savings account to pay for it myself.

All without telling my husband. Cue the gasps and groans of every married woman reading this.

Should I have been surprised, then, that Chris messaged me today to say he was coming home for lunch? As Secret Handyman banged my pipes and screwed holes in my drywall? (Sexual innuendos totally intended for comic effect. Har har.)

Of course! Of course Chris is coming home for lunch. Because why in the world would I get away with something like this?

Thing is, I’m also babysitting a friend’s daughter this week. And Secret Handyman had gone to Lowe’s to exchange a part. So when Chris got home for lunch, everyone else managed to show up at the house at the same time. It was a chaotic convergence of friend-crying babies-Chris-handyman, such that Chris was totally disoriented and had NO IDEA what was going on. And I had to introduce Chris to Secret Handyman.

Me: “Chris, this is Bill.”

Chris: “Oh, hi Bill.” — strange look at me.

Me: “Bill is here to fix stuff. And hang a light.”

Chris: “Oh. Okay.” — furrowed brow furrowed brow furrowed brow.

Me: “Well, I’m going to take all these kids on a walk! Bye!”

And I took the girls and the friend’s daughter on a walk. While I panicked my way around the block with three babies sweating half to death in the 95-degree oppressive heat and humidity, Chris texts me with exactly this:

“What the shit who the hell is that and wtf is going on????”

Thankfully, it all blew over. Secret Handyman did enough work around the house to get us motivated, I think, to pick up a few DIY projects. Or finish all this goddamned painting and decorating I’ve started. Or maybe clean out a closet.

I think I can get the laundry done, at least. Yes, I think I can do that.