Of Cookies and Cleaning

Today we cheated. After barely passing each other in the dark for the last two days we decided to do some eating and shopping all together and not at home. We did, however, manage to keep ourselves reigned in at Quick Trip as opposed to the Chinese buffet (which is really expensive on Sunday). So after $11.35 worth of drinks, hot dogs, taquitos, and cupcakes, we set out on our excursion which included a great deal of laughter directed at fashion in Ross, imported foods (including mushroom-shaped, chocolate-dipped cookies, a craft book revolving around Peeps, and bunny-liscious pasta just in time for Easter) at World Market, and random people wandering through the video game store. (Let's just say that spiky hair and numerous earrings were the tamest thing we saw.)

Eventually we made our way home for nap-time (What else is Sunday afternoon for?) and goodies in the form of freshly baked cookies. Here's where it gets strange. While I stirred together butter, sugar, and eggs, Jeff decided to clean the floor and - you'd better sit down - our son helped. As Jeff scrubbed, a soon-to-be-15-year-old scooted around behind him drying the floor. On top of that, the pair told jokes the entire time. For a moment I thought I was dreaming, and then it occurred to me I might be in heaven (though the likelihood of that may be disputed by my closest friends). There were two strong, muscular guys cleaning my floor with nary a complaint while I admired their handiwork and continued making cookies.

When the event (which I wish I had videotaped for all you nonbelievers) ended, more entertainment ensued with an accidental flushing of a wash cloth down the toilet. Apparently it was in the bottom of the bucket unseen through the Pine Sol clouded water. Much grasping and poking could not bring the rag out, so a plunger was used to help it along the way down. The fun of this, of course, was listening to the conversation between the guys. "Ew...That's disgusting. I don't think I can put my hand in there," says the older one. "Let me do it," the younger one volunteers brightly. "After all, I've let all kinds of bugs crawl up and down my arm, and I dug a whole duck skeleton out of the mud last summer. It couldn't be grosser than that."

Eventually the episode ended and another began. This time, the washer was flashing "SUDS." Apparently this meant that the detergent (a different brand than we normally buy) had created too many suds and the washer was waiting for them to dissipate before finishing the bath rugs inside. Upon opening the washer door, the guys decided they should help the suds move along to their Valhalla, and that a hairdryer would be the most expedient method for dispatching them. Thus, the two of them sat (taking turns) pointing the hair dryer into the suds-filled washer. The first burst of air blew pillows of foam throughout the laundry room which promptly became volleyballs in the hands of the teenager. After several minutes of playing with the soap, the bubbles were tamed and the washer set to work again.

This finally ended our adventures in cleaning for the evening. The two triumphant warriors set the house right, absconded with warm cookies, and headed to the basement for a round of video game fighting. Alas, my knights may not have shining armor, but they do know how to defeat the monsters of water, soap, and grime.