Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Tuesday, June 27, 2006 Dry Whites Season
Check out what we got last weekend:
Yes, I took y'all's advice and bought a new dryer last week. The guys delivered it Saturday morning, and then my dad came over to help me hook it up shortly thereafter. Mom even brought me some new shirts to not ruin in it. Not only did the new machine not ruin them, we got six loads of laundry done that afternoon and evening. With our old dryer, six loads of laundry would have taken approximately a year and a half. It was quite the exciting day.
But not because of that crap I just told you. It was because M. Small's morning went like this:
Awake. Come get me. Hi Mommy. Hi Daddy. Here's my pacifier. Breakfast. Done. TRUCK! TRUCK! OOOOH! BIG! TRUCK!
Trash took him straight from his feeding chair to the front walk, where he got to meet the delivery guys and even touch their great big white truck. One of the guys went over the paperwork with me in the house. The other one asked Trash if we wanted the box. Because Trash hadn't had her coffee yet, she couldn't think of a reason why we'd want it. Fortunately, the driver noticed that Trash was holding one in her arms. And then the driver even cut a door in the front and a couple of windows in the sides. Then we brought it into the house, where M. Small was kind enough to pose on his new threshold for a few photos:
Alas, my digital camera not only measures resolution in kilopixels, it also has about a two-second delay, which is about a second longer than he ever holds still I assure you that there were any number of cute moments when he was peering around the door.
This was about a half a second after one of them.
A man has a right to defend his home. Fortunately the object extending from his hand is the handle of his toy broom and not a shotgun barrel.
It took most of the weekend for me to get used to it being there, and to stop thinking every time I glanced into the living room that there was a short, squat person standing there. But now it's part of the décor. Additional bonus: less area to vacuum.
So now M. Small has a place of his own. Which is kind of ironic, considering he now has a lot more clean and dry and not-scorched clothes to leave the house in. posted by M. Giant 7:08 PM 3 comments
You know it's testimony as good parents, that you thought to take pictures of the box house (even at 7 & 9 my kids will play in a big box too) and yet did not take any pictures of the ridiculous grappler swimsuit.
My friend's daughter asked for a box for her 8th birthday. She said she missed her Christmas box, "Boxy," which had to be lovingly recycled in February due to excessive smelliness. That child watched TV in it, ate meals in it, and Febrezed it every night before bed.
When I was a kid, we had this refrigerator box made out of wood. My dad turned it into a playhouse, later it became a shed. They only tore it down last year. Companies these days just don't understand the need for permanence in a child's life.