Friday, March 06, 2009

Loren The Robot Maid

I’m into inventing and fixing things this week, invigorated by a bout of spring cleaning and organizing. First, I’m thinking I might attach a cot to the refrigerator door. That way, if I’d like to take a power nap during the day, I can still pour out drinks to my children in my sleep. Another cool invention that I thought up during a bleary-eyed all-night party with baby Bigfoot is a paper copy of me. Seriously, I can go to Staples, have them enlarge a picture of myself until it is life-size, and mount the copy on cardboard or foam board. Then I can glue it right on the ceiling over his dwarf bed, so he can gaze up at me demanding “coo coo bows” until he falls asleep. (“Coo coo bows” is Dwarf talk for “something I want that you can’t figure out, so I will scream incessantly.”) If that doesn’t work, then maybe I can steal a mannequin from Macy’s and put it in his room at night. I’ll put the sweatshirt I wear five days a week on it so it smells just like mommy.

In an attempt to stop dreaming up inventions and actually do something productive, I start organizing the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. It’s supposed to be a "walk-in," but it’s more like a "crawl into, attempt to stand, then trip in" closet. First I take apart two steel baker’s racks and put them in the hall. Then I drag Milk Man to Home Depot in a blizzard to buy Closet Maid kits. He starts screwing the tracks into the closet walls. It takes him two hours to put the first two up, and then the drill needs to be charged overnight.

Obviously, I didn’t marry Bob the Builder, but luckily, he’s my father. When we really get into a home improvement jam dad comes to the rescue. It turns out that I am good at house projects. Milk Man is smarter than me in some ways, and stronger, no doubt. In fact next month he’ll be Dr. Milk Man after he defends his dissertation, but he has no patience with home improvement tasks. He hates doing them. I knew this going into marriage, and accepted it, planning to use his brains to make the money necessary to pay a professional.

The next morning, after Milk Man goes to work and the children are fed, I go in my closet and put up the rest of the shelves and poles. It takes me about an hour. Then I put everything back in order. After this accomplishment I’m on a home improvement high. I put poles in three more closets in other rooms, and organize them. Milk Man is astonished when he sees what I’ve done. He’s calls me Rosie the Riveter. I feel more like Rosie, the Jetson’s robot maid.
(Pictured Above)

The last thing I do is pull some of Milk Man's college texts off a shelf and alter the titles. This is my indirect way of saying, "Since I busted my #@! putting the closet in order, it would make me happy if you used the GPS system in your Bling mobile to locate a hanger and a shoe rack as you pull into the driveway undressing."

Is this passive-aggressive behavior?

I pause to wonder in my beautiful, newly organized closet. Yes. I believe I am part Irish/Scottish, so I'll blame it on those jeans...I mean genes.


Elizabeth Kathryn Gerold-Miller said...

Way to go on those projects! You've got the jump on me with spring. I'm still in cozy winter mode, reading on the couch (a certain book which seems to me way to big to lose in a one-family dwelling :) ). This sounds exactly like me and my husband. I'm the fix-it person, and I got it from my dad. He can't do that kind of stuff anymore because he has MS. I also have ancestors who worked on building the World Trade Center, and my dad did business there. If he hadn't gotten sick he probably would have been there that fateful day.

Loren Christie said...

Hi Elizabeth, I found out tonight after I talked to my dad that I made a mistake about my paternal grandfather's job. It turns out that he installed the metal behind plaster. So he did repair and build many of the ornate plasterwork in the old NYC buildings, but he did not work on the WTC. By that point in the Seventies, there really was no plaster in the new buildings. He may have been on site at the towers, but not physically working on them. So he wasn't a riveter after all. Plaster work is a lost art now.

Elizabeth Kathryn Gerold-Miller said...

Some of my Italian ancestors were masons at WTC. I think my dad sold either the air conditioning system or the elevator cabs to one of the buildings. He became a sales engineer after he was unable to work as a builder. He and his brother built Sasafras, which is where Angelina and Brad are now living. It belonged to the Prince of Kuwait - not sure if he is still the owner.

Loren Christie said...

Wow, that's an interesting story.

Putz said...

did i ever tell you I LOVE YOUR writing even at times when you preach to me about books and reviews and your mucic as i enter your the david mme me putz...i admit i haqve not posted anything woryh while in a week

Caity said...

Wow you definitely got a lot done! I think those little notes are absolutely hilarious! I will have to remember this for the future.

pal4all said...


pal4all said...

Hi! I'm glad that you replied me! Thanx. I'v added you i mean i'v followed your blog to get the update of you blog :). Keep fine

Loren Christie said...

Thanks pal.

Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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