There was a lit-tle Spanish flea ...
You know what sucks? Having a cat who escapes for a day and then returns home with fleas. What sucks more is not realizing there is a sizable flea population until it's kind of serious and you, the humans, are being bitten. The suckiest thing is when the treatment you buy for the cats (all of them, because of course if one has them, they all do) doesn't work even a little bit (damn you, Hartz!), and then the flea foggers you set off don't work (double damn you!), and then even Frontline doesn't kill ALL of the fleas, and when you come back from your weekend visiting your in-laws at the shore so you don't breathe in toxic fumes, your bedroom is so overrun with fleas that you have to go check in to the fucking Hilton.
I've had an exterminator in twice in the past two weeks to spray chemicals in my house. If I am resorting to chemicals, you know this shit is serious.
And did I mention I had some sort of Indian meal moth infestation in my kitchen at the same time? That was fun, too. I haven't traced the source exactly, but they seemed to be everywhere. It probably didn't help that Booby left an open package of pancake mix in the cupboard, or that my mother gifted me with a package of cookies from a discount store (both were full of little teeny moth cocoons). Are you feeling itchy yet?
I promise I'm not actually a filthy pig. It's just that bugs are conspiring against me. Or something.
So that's why I haven't been around, or been in touch with anyone, or leaving comments on anyone's blogs. I have been so busy cleaning out my cupboards, vacuuming every day, changing my sheets umpteen times, and laundering every item in my closets in hot water that I have barely had time to think, let alone do anything more mentally strenuous than check my email.
As I told Booby, the upside here is that we were forced to clean the whole house, together, which is something we had been fighting about daily. Nothing like a new baby to corral your energy away from housekeeping. I rounded up 30 bags of stuff to give to the Salvation Army, and now all my towels fit in the closet they call home (after having been laundered in plenty of hot water, of course).
I also made up a chore chart, much to Booby's chagrin, although his chores are fairly minimal since he's the breadwinner while I'm home with the baby. I have to earn my keep! Ha ha. Actually, I thought there would be a revolt if I placed too many chores on his shoulders, so I gave him only a few hard ones. My hope is that these chores will become second nature. And then you can all ask me for my recipe in Stepford Husband-making.