I sit behind this big cluttered desk for hours every day and night. It’s mahogany or cherry or some kind of wood that I never would have chosen had I picked out this desk myself but I didn’t. The previous owners of our house offered to sell us a few items when they moved. I am convinced that’s because they didn’t want the hassle of moving this giant desk with its interlocking bookcases and cabinets.
I’m not really a fancy desk kind of girl. Really, if it were up to me, I’d still be sitting at a desk cobbled together from an old door balanced on two short filing cabinets.
All this to say that today at some point, the left drawer on this fancy desk got stuck in the not-quite-closed position.
Something’s apparently fallen and can’t get up way back in the way back of that drawer. I’ve done the obvious things to solve this problem. I’ve pulled the drawer out as far as it will go and yanked up and felt around for a magic release button and I’ve used a plastic ruler to sweep around the back of the drawer like you’d sweep a finger into the drooly mouth of a baby who has a Cheeto stuck in the back of his throat.
What? Your baby doesn’t eat Cheetos?
(Either does mine. I don’t have a baby.)
So, I have this drawer that looks like it just needs a gentle push to close it but that’s a lie. The drawer will not close.
I did a Google search, looking for a solution and found nothing.
I’ve always wondered why this drawer didn’t pull out more in the first place. You can’t really see or reach the stuff in the back of that drawer.
(You think I’m going to write a whole post about a dumb struck drawer, right?)
Tonight one of my sons got his first-ever paycheck. He gave the envelope to me and told me I could open it and I did and read out the number so he could be impressed by how much money he earned already. We talked about taxes and withholding and then he said, “Just keep it. I don’t know what I’d do with it now anyway.”
So . . . Mommy’s going shopping!
Just kidding. I’m just hanging on to it until he opens a bank account.
Tomorrow I have nowhere I have to go, nothing I have to do unless you count the pet store to buy dog food. I’m planning to take the rest of my very dull knives to the Farmer’s Market where I’ve found that my neighbor was right: there’s a guy there who will sharpen your knives on the spot and charge you just a few bucks. Last week I took in my 26-year old chef knife and had it sharpened. I used it as soon as I got home and promptly nicked my index finger because as it turns out, sharpened knives are sharp.
My husband’s birthday was last Sunday which makes me feel like this Sunday is Groundhog’s Day . . . hello Father’s Day, but I already cooked a roast and mashed potatoes and made perfect sweet tea and baked a chocolate cake from scratch and picked out thoughtful cards from all the children and bought a gift. Now I have to do it all over again? I mean GET TO do it all over again? As I recall, on Mother’s Day, my husband left me alone in the world with these four children while he gallivanted off to a tropical island for 20 days.
Okay, fine. It was a missions trip and he did make sure the kids gave me cards on Mother’s Day and my own mother was here. Still. (*DISCLAIMER* My husband is awesome and I adore him and I’m just kidding around.)
Today my friend, Claire, and I took Grace to get her ears pierced. We surprised her by taking her to a jewellery store. She was shocked and I think a little scared–even though she really wanted to have pierced ears, she wasn’t too excited about the actual piercing part of having them pierced. So, we have pictures of her cringing and when it was all over, she cried a little and said, “Katie lied when she said it didn’t really hurt!”
I felt like a monster who let my baby get hurt.
Well, before I had my drawer crisis and before the ear-piercing torture and the first paycheck, other stuff happened this week.
My husband and I went to see a taping of The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. He got a high-five from Jay at the opening of the show, but I was crowded out by a guy in an orange shirt who just stood clapping, blocking my path to Jay. (We’re on a first-name basis now since this is the second time I’ve seen him in person.)
We went to a graduation party. (My husband and me, not me and Jay.)
Then there was work, soccer practice, and shuttling kids to and fro, reading (Torch by Cheryl Strayed), napping, cooking, laundry, dog-walking and all the other mundane and routine tasks that stitch together the days.
And so it goes.