Do you recall the days when they used to draw lottery balls from that wiry cage on live TV in the evenings? Or was that just a local PNW thing? Regardless, that’s how my thoughts seem to bounce around in my mind while I’m out here pressure washing. It’s like a mental lottery, and today, I’ve got a winner video to share with you.
I must admit, I’m not the most skilled at managing a water-beast arm wrestling me backward while attempting to capture a steady video with the other hand. It might not earn a plethora of upvotes on Reddit’s r/powerwashingporn message board, but it brings me joy to watch it back and slow the playback speed.
I’m in a race against the clock. With just over two hours before Evelyn returns home from preschool, I’m squeezing in all my to-dos. From blogging to setting up my work schedule, from tackling three progress notes I neglected on Friday to downsizing Evelyn’s clothing, time is like an obnoxious backseat driver, constantly looking over my shoulder. But don’t worry, I’ve organized it all on a spreadsheet to keep everything in check.
Oh, shoot, I forgot to include the Home Depot trip for that deck paint on my list.
Do you know how clothes left in the washer can develop that funky smell? Well, there’s a two-foot square area in the playroom that seems to have adopted a similar odor. I’ve tried dousing it in vinegar and baking soda, using dish soap and baby powder. It’s like an impenetrable force of unpleasantness that has left me feeling helpless and trapped in a cage of sadness.
Okay, so the internet suggests vodka. Let me grab the Absolut. When you’re desperate, you’re desperate, and at some point in using up half the bottle, I said, “YOLO!” and didn’t leave a drop off that fabric.
And then there’s Archie. His fleas are like an army on a never-ending mission. I’ve given him Sentinel, an oral heartworm and flea pill, and applied Frontline, that oily stuff on his coat. He’s had two baths in the past week, and each time, around thirty fleas decided to take their leave. But now, he’s back to itching, and if I stop writing now, I can use the extra time to make his life more comfortable. Which I will do.
I’ve developed quite a strategy too! I create a soapy barrier around his head, forming a no-fly zone for the fleas. Then, I start from his back paws, working my way up toward the front, observing fleas attempting to escape to higher ground, only to meet their match in the soap zone. I wonder if he’s picking up eggs or fleas from where he lies down on the carpets, so even after I rid them from him, they hop back on around the house. Is that a thing?
That’s where my mind wanders because, much like the Spartans, these little critters keep coming. Well, time to get back to it, and then I’ll tackle my work stuff, and so on and so forth.
Ready for a super-productive day! Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 