Why Doing Laundry Is Hazardous to My Health…

Ya know…

Thursday and most of yesterday, I felt very on top of my game…

You know, the service Wednesday night was all about encouraging others and at the point where I felt most down, I gained extra encouragement from a slew of my bloggy buddies. In addition to that, when I went to the Altar Wednesday night, all of my friends prayed over me and for me. I woke up Thursday morning feeling different. I didn’t have the “woe is me” feeling that I’d woken up with the rest of the week. It was a good day. I got alot done. I spent the majority of Thursday night cleaning and got my kitchen back into some semblance of order (yes, the camping stuff was still there)… and started on the laundry. Yesterday morning when I woke up I was determined to get the rest of the laundry done so that when I shipped the kids off to their dad’s, I could go and partake in a fantabulous dinner of steak and shrimp at Shelly’s without feeling the least bit guilty.

As of 3:30 I had the last load in the machine. The floor was no longer littered with clothes as it had been that morning. There was just one item, a skirt, that I had to wash on it’s own, and on the delicates cycle. (To be honest, it’s supposed to be hand washed and had I known that when I purchased it, I wouldn’t have bought it, but I fell in love with it before doing the necessary research. And I ordered it online. And when it came and I noticed I had every intention of sending it back, but never did. So a year later when I moved and realized that it was now too late to return it, I decided to wear it.)

Anywho. That skirt… my favorite and most high maintenance skirt was still laying on the floor. But I was proud of myself. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had accomplished something instead of just spinning my wheels. I felt like I was getting caught up and ahead and it was a good feeling.

A few weeks ago, yet another friend had a PartyLite show. I always go but rarely buy anything. I’m not a candle person. I’m too afraid I will light them and not put them out and catch the house on fire, and what’s the point of having candles that you don’t burn… let alone set fire to anything that you paid that much money for?

However, I feel bad when I don’t buy things. Because I know that they love them and they are having the parties so that they can get free stuff. I would have these parties too except I have no friends to invite other than the ones that are at all the other parties that I go to. But anyway…

When I looked in the catalog she told me that the petite three wicks were on sale. Normally $33, they were marked down to $10. $10 I can do. That was reasonable. And I really was trying to do new things. I’m not a decorator and I always feel so at home when others have their candles burning.

So I bought 2. It took me forever to pick out the scents, but I finally decided on Snow Berries and Cherry Blossom. (And I’m so not a fruity person.)

They arrived in my hot little hands on Wednesday. I asked how to care for them because I don’t know anything about them. Laura told me that I had to burn these candles for six hours at a time since they were larger.

Perfect! I’m home all day most days so I can burn them all day long and not feel bad about it.

When I unpacked them Thursday morning, I placed one on my new bookshelf in my office and the other in my bedroom. (Well, first it was in the living room, but the bookshelf in there was slanted and it was burning crooked and I’m anal like that so I moved it into my room but that’s besides the point.)

I also read the little instruction paper that came with it (in 6 different languages) and it said that while the wax was still soft you should “hug” the candle so that it burns more evenly.

I was impressed that I read the instructions and I wanted to take care of these… after all, they are $33 candles and they need to last me until they go on sale again.

I loved it. I loved the smell. I loved the flicker of the light and I followed the instructions… almost…

They key to the hugging part was to do so AFTER the candle was extinguished. I failed to read that part and all day Thursday and yesterday when I was on the phone or happened to walk by, I would hug my candle.

So, I was on the phone with one of the assistants at one of the stations that I work with (and thank goodness it was with her and not one of the big dogs) and we were shooting the breeze as we typically do on Friday afternoons… and she was telling me about the earrings that she had made (and i think she’s going to give me some for a giveaway)… and I go to hug the candle.

Apparently, I hugged a little too hard and the wax started draining out the side. Now, I don’t have it sitting on a fancy candle holder. It’s sitting on a Mount Rushmore plate that I picked up at the Dollar Store shortly after my kids returned from their trip with my parents a few years ago.

Well, I kept talking and watching it, thinking it would stop. It didn’t. I tried to hug it in different ways so that it would stop and it didn’t.

By this time, it had jumped the plate and was forming a puddle on the top of my brand new bookshelf. The puddle turned into a stream and eventually a river. I saw it making it’s way to the back of the bookshelf… and the wall… which means that it would drip down the wall and to the shelves and books below.

(I’m still yaking on the phone, just so you know.)

I walked into the kitchen to grab a paper towel and as I was turning to head back in the office I stepped on my favorite skirt, the lone piece of laundry on the floor, and totally wiped out on the kitchen floor… my feet jammed into the wall and fell on top of the trashcan, knocking it over.

I got up cooly and calmly, my toes throbbing and continued talking while trying to stop that river of wax that was now trickling down the back of the bookshelf.

I was trying to maintain my composure and even though we were not talking business and even though we have become very good friends, I didn’t want her to know what I had just done. I was still her co-worker and she’s told me that she looks up to me. I didn’t want her to think that I was a complete nincompoop… even though I always tell her the stupid things that I do… (her favorite, by the way, is when I laid down on the ground and got my picture taken where Marvin the Mobster was shot.)

Shortly after that, I got off the phone with her, reminding her that the Ice Cream man would soon be there (this is the downfall of working from home. The Ice Cream man comes every Friday at 4pm and the station pays for it. I keep saying that one Friday, I’m going to go buy ice cream and expense it, but I always forget). I threw the phone down on the floor and called to Sam to come and help me because the wax would just not stop flowing… everywhere.

It then dawned on me that perhaps I should blow the candle out! (Yes, I have a college degree… it’s hard to tell sometimes…)

Once I did, the wax started to harden and the river ceased flowing. Meaning that I could regroup and start assessing the damages. Luckily, the wax only landed on things that it could easily be scraped from once it dried and in the process, I got a nice wax treatment for my hands. (I love them at the nail salon.. not so much on the do-it-yourself front.)

It was then that I looked down at a very swollen and throbbing toe.

I called Shelly… she’s the go to person when you hurt yourself, or your kids get hurt…

Well, before I called her I had to find all the pieces to the phone. I had the headset connected to the handset, but the battery was hanging out and the battery cover had slid under the fridge during the fall…

and I said… “hey.. how do you know if your toe is broken?”

She replied, “you would know if it was swollen and changing colors.”

“Like a purplish red color?” I asked.

“Yes.” She pauses. “Would these toes that you ask of happen to be attached to your body?”

“Yes.” I sheepishly replied.

And then she asked what I knew she was going to ask… “what happened?”

“Well… I’ll tell you, but you’re going to laugh.”

“I kinda figured that when you asked me about broken toes…” she said.

And I recounted the story to her. Much like I just told you, but with out the asides. And when I got to the part about wiping out in the kitchen, she lost it. And so did I.

She told me that I probably hadn’t broken it, but that I had probably jammed it. Her prescription was to tape the two together, take motrin and ice it for 20 minutes. By the time I took the ice off and they thawed out, the mortin would’ve kicked in and the pain would be minimal.

So I send Sam off to get the tape. Between his football scrapes and her motorcycle burns we always have some. But we couldn’t find it. I could only find packing tape, and that didn’t work out so great.

So the toes are throbbing but at least the mess is cleaned up.

But I just keep thinking, if I wouldn’t have done the laundry… none of this would’ve ever happened….

Until next time…

Heather