What's going on here?

There comes a point when you look around yourself and wonder "What the hell?" I find myself having this thought more and more of late. For example, all winter long we have plotted and schemed, developing the perfect plan for tackling our yard BEFORE it bursts into a wild jungle resembling last year's landscaping masterpiece. I researched stepable ground covers, I ordered a yard waste can from our trash service, I even compared rental rates on rototillers, I was so ready. And yet, yesterday as I took out the recycling I found myself standing amidst a sea of ankle high green. Crooked stalks of would-be poppies sticking up above a carpet of purple clovers and small white blossoms. It was then I thought to myself "What the hell? yesterday this was bare dirt?"

Our bedroom is a catch-all that has not once looked attractive or even close to acceptable since the day we have moved in. I could blame it on my children, or our lack of bookshelf that leaves our novels piled up in teetering stacks along the bedroom wall, but truth is, we're just messy. The majority of our bedroom mess consists of clothes dropped onto the floor next to yesterday's bath towel (which is probably still wet) and the row of water glasses that is accumulating near the head of the bed. It's surprisingly easy to overlook the clutter during the daytime, most likely due to the fact that our door remains shut from dawn until lights-out. The other night however, in the early hours of the morning I was rolling over on my new, fabulously soft pillow-top mattress set when I caught a glimpse of the repulsive pile of miscellaneous crap next to my side of the bed and thought "What the hell!"

This week was the first day of spring quarter classes and Monday night was my first on-campus course since I was a single woman. Needless to say I was a little nervous about the prospect of walking into a college classroom full of 18 and 19 year olds who would all regard me with a mixture of humor and pity. Inspired by my midnight revelation the night before, I began a mad-clean of the master bedroom and scooped up every loose article of clothing I could find. I piled, I sorted and I washed, I was on fire! The sure payoff of a restful night's sleep and my choice of outfits for my first day of class was enough to keep me going all afternoon. Around 5 o'clock, I skipped downstairs to collect my first load of freshly laundered clothes, popped open the dryer door, reached my hand into the basin and "What the hell?" all the clothes were still stone cold and sopping wet. Positive that I had remembered to start the dryer cycle, I closed the door and once again spun the dial around to "90 minute dry" and pressed "start." *KLANG*BANG*RATTLE*CHUG* "What the hell?" the dryer sounded like it was about to burst from the closet and rattle on down the street...hopefully making it around the corner BEFORE erupting into flames. I looked at the clock, I looked at the pile of wet clothes containing every bra I owned as well as my two pair of casual pants. I looked back at the clock. Even if I could will the dryer back into working condition, there wasn't even enough time to wait for another cycle. So sporting my pinstriped dress slacks and a blue blouse, I headed off to walmart to purchase the cheapest bra I could find and then tried to figure out some way to slip it on in the parking lot without putting on a show.

Today promised to be a much calmer day with nothing on the schedule but dinner prep and a little light studying. Feeling ambitious I decided to pull out all the stops and grill up some chicken satay with peanut sauce. This proved to be much more time-consuming than I had initially thought and the boys ended up playing on their own for much longer than I had imagined. Part way into the cooking processes the kids ran into the kitchen, whacking each other over the head with long pink strips of fabric. At first I only tuned in enough to determine whether or not both of the boys were enjoying the game, once I was satisfied by their dueling giggles I was about to turn my attention back to the grill when...wait a minute "what the hell?" where did they get those pink fabric strips? A short trip own the hall would reveal the answer...they had shred my bathrobe, one of the few remaining articles of my clothing that isn't sitting in a soggy heap in the dryer downstairs.