cozy me up

Back to work after a great string of births (not that they aren't work too!) I am hurting. I can say absolutely and without hesitation that I categorically hate APA. I spent a few years as an undergraduate music therapy student beleaguered by a nasty, controlling prof and a paper a day in APA (plus rewrites). Now, weighty with my diploma, tenure, and sundry other meaningless evidences of my ability to comply successfully with systems I detest, I feel completely confident that I was right all along; just like your home's previous owner's faux-Victorian wallpaper, APA is a tool of the devil to make us doubt the risen Christ.

I keep trying to perk up, but it's FEBRUARY! This is seriously the most godforsaken month. My plates expire, everything is frozen, all the kids have cabin fever, and the giant puddles on the playground will ensure at least another week of indoor recess. I have a shit-ton of work to do and everyone else is in a bad mood too.

That said, I'd like to dedicate this post to my favorite phrase, a balm against all the worlds ills. Use it freely, it's powers are vast!

CO.ZY .ME. .UP. /ko-ze me uhp/ imperative
- Phrase commonly uttered by frozen-footed grad students, occupying chronically underheated houses, upon clambering frantically into bed with their friendly, furry, toasty husbands after a crazy long day of unthinkable torture at the hands of maniacal primary students. "Hug me until I stop shaking and start smiling. Administer chocolate as necessary. I really like you"

One of the things I like the very best about helping at a home birth is the sense of satisfaction I get leaving a brand-new, exhausted, and somewhat shell-shocked family in a sorted house, laundry and dishes running; everybody stitched-up, cleaned-up, well-fed, and tucked-in to a fresh bed for a long rest. All cozied up

and this is why we can't have nice things

I have this problem that when I decide to do something, I just do it. I'm talking about projects here. You know, ripping up the bathroom tile, repainting the kitchen, making a new woodcut or a pair of pants... The main issue with this is that I usually get to this kind of stuff at 8:30 on a week night; dinner's over, little man's in bed, I'm still wearing whatever raggedy-ass excuse for a teacher outfit I put on in the morning, and I NEVER! stop to change my clothes.

I always wonder why everyone else's clothes seem so nice.
Hmmm, maybe the don't change tires in them.
Or re-caulk the upstairs shower.
Or, like tonight for example, fix the dryer.

Yep.

When's the last time you pulled out your dryer? Thought so. Imagine 2 inches of lint covering the only square of basement floor that never got painted when we moved in because, who wants to move the dryer? Now imagine that you've borrowed your parents' crazy catholic family van to bring an old, rusty, but free!, gas dryer to your house; only to realize - after you've moved the dryer into the basement - that your dryer is electric. Now imagine the two useless dryers sitting side by side, chatting it up with the totally functional washer full of mildewing clothes that you can't even dry outside because it's not just cold, it's raining. Now, if you're still with me, imagine the deep sense of satisfaction you'd feel buying a 2 year old electric dryer from the reuse center for 25 bucks, and the belt to fix it for $16.

Dinner's over, boy's in bed, DRYER TIME!

I rushed down stairs, introduced non-functional dryer number 3 to the other appliances and proceeded to take it apart. Thanks to some very brief directions (in French) and the subtle help of my very calm husband, I got the thing working on the second try. HALLELUJAH! As I was closing it up, I dropped the last screw down inside and had to take the front back off (of course!) Amidst much mumbled cursing and unladylike grunting, closing it up, I looked down at my clothes and realized I was wearing a floor length, wrap around, dry clean only, lint magnet. What idiot fixes a dryer in Banana Republic wool everything?
Oh. That'd be me.
But here's the thing. I'm so proud of my cheap self for getting and fixing a cast-off appliance, that my home-repair related euphoria profoundly overshadows any kind of fashion remorse, and any kind of guilt over my clothes just doesn't ever really stick. Besides, since I fixed the dryer, I can just wash some Target jeans and a concert t-shirt - tomorrow's Friday anyway!