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I Don’t Really Blog in the Summertime

The kids have been out of school for two weeks, which means I’ve spent two weeks not really doing much of anything. Even when they do go to camp they’re only there from 9 to just before 3. When they go to school the days are from 8 to 3.30. Since I’m working out from 9.30 to 10.30 a few mornings a week this means that I’m not even going to shower until 11am.

So basically I’ve skipped showering. I either commit to smelling awful or I float in the pool. The pool is warm and I’m alone so I don’t even have to shave my legs. I just plop in there relax a little. In fact I’m so lacking in pride these days that I’ve done my second Momversation with horrendous hair. It’s not even bedhead, it’s just housewife who’s given up hair. I could get a haircut, but I’m too lazy for that, plus I think I’ve had my 2011 haircut already.

It’s time to wash the windows. I’ve just rescreened half the house and I’m here to tell you that any fool can do it. I spent about $20 on supplies to rescreen the windows in five bedrooms and a few hallways. Of course I did it the day after I’d given myself a manicure. Since the kids have been out of school I’ve also repaired some of the grout in their bathtub, which is an interesting story.

You see a few weeks ago Mr. G told me that he’d need to do a test shoot in our house with a small crew on a Thursday. I explained to him that I play tennis every single Thursday from today to the rest of my life and there’s no way in the world I’m willing to have that interrupted. Mr G changes the shoot to a Friday, and of course I play tennis on a Friday for the first time in a year. I come in the door at about 11.30 and the driveway is full of pick up trucks and lighting equipment. This doesn’t look so much like a test shoot as it looks like a shoot. I smell bad, I’m hungry, I’m tired, so I kick my shoes off at the door and head upstairs to my bedroom. I fling the door open and I am alarmed to find Anna’s husband in my bed with a bunch of car parts.

There is a muffler, part of an engine, suspension and other assorted parts on my bed. Inside my bed is Anna’s soon to be late husband. I smiled as much as I possibly could, grabbed my things from the bathroom and headed to the kid’s bathroom to clean up. I stood under the water and tried to let it wash the tennis and newfound anxiety off of me, but when I started looking at the tile more anxiety came over me. There were cracks in the grout.

Being a homeowner I have many fears, but the big one is that there will be a water leak from the top to the bottom floors. Cracked grout makes me shake. So, because of the filthy man and his his filthy car parts in my never filthy bedroom I’d found one of my worst nightmares, a potential leak.

I kept the kids out of their shower and tub for four days so that everything would dry out nicely. I used a grout saw to scrape away any loose or adjoining grout, then I mixed fresh grout and applied it where it was needed. A day later I applied sealant and a day after that the kids were back in their shower. Of course I’m still in there every day checking to be sure that not a drop of water can get through.

Maybe I should thank Anna’s husband?

So now that I’ve fixed the grout and rescreened the windows it’s time to wash the windows. Well, I’m getting ready to do that, and to deadhead the climbing roses when I see that a bird is building her nest on my kitchen window. I feel like it’s an omen of good things to come so I whip out my iPhone and take some video.

Twenty minutes after I took that video she dropped an egg right there on my kitchen window, which seemed a little less adorable. I’m totally willing to evict a bird, but I’m not willing to evict a bird sitting on her egg. Now I have to wait until the baby is hatched and flying before I can wash my filthy kitchen window.

This bird has made her nest on my kitchen window

This is the view from my kitchen sink

It's so filthy it makes me shake

Ooh and also there’s a new meme where people tell you to google “Blue Waffle” and click “I’m feeling lucky”. Don’t do it. There’s nothing lucky about it. It’s slang for a very diseased ladybit.