The war was long in coming. The enemy had been conducting border raids for months, for years; these minor skirmishes saw losses on both sides, but the tension only grew with each new flurry.
Finally, at dawn yesterday morning, I struck.
The advantage of surprise was on my side. First I divided the enemy forces into three distinct groups. They were unable to communicate that way, and unable to coordinate their defense. I was able to win three big victories almost without effort. Then began the long, slow war of attrition. Hour by hour, Tide Free in hand, I beat back the enemy forces.
Late in the afternoon, they brought in new armies from their outposts to the north. I was able to beat them back, though my overall strategy took a beating. We struggled through the evening with logistical problems, particularly in provisioning hangers and empty storage boxes.
When night fell, we adopted an uneasy ceasefire.
When hostilities resumed this morning, I knew I had already won. The enemy's spirit was broken, and resistance merely a token effort. The washer and dryer went to their well-earned rest early in the afternoon, and after a lull, nearly every scrap of clothing in the house was both folded and put away.
There are still some small pockets of insurgency remaning. There is the basket of dry-cleaning, and its fresh allies, today's dirty clothes. There is a lone basket in need of folding, yet. And I have not yet begun a fresh offensive on the sock basket. That will be vicious pair-to-pair guerilla combat, and the casualties will be heavy.
But for now, I bask in the glory of victory. The war is not over. It will never be over, for eternal vigilance is the price of freedom.
My kitchen is: Sadly neglected. Fighting the good fight doesn't leave a lot of time for cooking.
It's amazing how much a small child learns about manners from the people surrounding her. It's equally amazing how hard small chidren try to do the polite thing. Sasha says "please" and "thank you" now. Not all the time, mind you, but it's not rare, either.
But sometimes this urge to imitate leads her horribly astray.
Matt is, shall we say, a little free with the horn when he's driving. "Hell-O," he'll say to the car drifting into our lane, usually followed by "get off the PHONE!"
On Saturday, we were out in the car, and Matt had occasion to honk. "Hi!" Sasha chimed in from the back seat. We laughed a little bit and let it go.
On Sunday, we were out again, and ditto with the honking. "Hi!" Sasha said at the sound of the horn, and with enthusiasm, I might add. Just as an experiment, we tooted the horn a few more times, all scientific-like. Each time, "Hi!" she would say. Clearly she has learned how this is supposed to work. My baby is so smart.
My kitchen is: Sink full of dirty dishes, dishwasher full of clean ones; and I made muffins this morning. But mostly clean, clean, hooray. I'm getting to be pretty good at this.
Sasha calls oranges "apples."
I have for some time been trying to come up with a really cutting piece of wit revolving around this fact. Something about comparing apples to oranges... or mixing them up... or something. There has to be a joke in there someplace, there just HAS to be. I've been thinking about it for at least two months now, so if there is a joke, I don't think I'm the one who's going to cough it up. Anyone got anything better?
My kitchen is: Ooky and dinner not cleaned up, but I don't care. HAH. There will be enough time for virtue and cleaning tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.