I Can Pick My Friends, and I Can Pick My Nose...Must I Pick My Trash?
I have a roof over my head, money in the bank, and a car to drive around, so why do I find myself repeatedly picking through the trash? At a certain point, it seems like a grown person should only be looking in the trash if expensive jewelry or orthodontia is missing and cannot be located in any logical or illogical place within the house or car or yard. And yet, on Friday morning, before I had even gotten dressed, I found three different reasons to pick through the trash.
For her birthday Aislinn received a charm bracelet set that came with two bracelets and about 40 little charms that you can change out depending on your mood or outfit (or for no apparent reason if you are a seven-year-old). In a move of great diplomacy, Aislinn offered up the second bracelet to Lauren who quickly picked out five charms that she wanted me to attach. Although we were seated next to each other, Lauren did not want to turn the hardware over to me until she had deposited her used tissue into the trash. I will never discourage a child who 1) is using a tissue rather than me to wipe her nose and 2) is willing to make the trek all the way to the trashcan to throw it away. Approximately 10 seconds after she disappeared into the kitchen, Lauren let up a wail and informed all of us that she had dropped one of the charms in the trash. Unfortunately, these were not enormous toddler-safe charms, but dainty little charms, the size of a small dangling earring.
Since there were 30 other charms in the big charm bracelet set, I didn’t think I needed to be particularly thorough in my search of the trash, but Aislinn and Lauren were both convinced that the one that was missing was most likely their favorite one of all. So I pulled the trash bag out of the can and began looking through it for the teeny little charm. Of course the bag was full, and about halfway down were the contents of the vacuum cleaner. I informed them that it couldn’t be found, and as they set upon their individually designed expressions of woe, I realized that the bag would not fit back into the can, so I spun it around to tie it up, and I actually caught sight of the charm and managed to retrieve it, resulting in a much deserved hero’s reception for me from the weeping girls in the living room. (Approximately 10 seconds after that, Lauren dropped another charm behind the couch, but that one can live there until we move out as far as I’m concerned.)
A few minutes later as I was taking the aforementioned trash bag and some cardboard recycling outside, I noticed that inside the pizza box from Wednesday night was our pizza cutter. It is not an expensive or particularly impressive pizza cutter, but I have been using it quite a bit lately since it is plastic and will not scratch Teflon and hasten our deaths. I don’t normally throw things out, so I was puzzled to find it there, but then I realized, maybe I do normally throw things out, and that is why I can never find anything. I would have spent the rest of our time in this house wondering what happened to that pizza cutter, but I never would have concluded that it had ended up in the trash.
Since I was well into trash duty for the morning (and since we were going away for the weekend) right before I left to take Aislinn to the bus stop, I made a sweep through the house and emptied all of the little trash cans. As I was dumping out one from the kid’s bathroom, I watched a brand new, bright white sock head toward the bottom of the trash bag. Of course I pulled that out too, and now I must ask myself, what exactly is going on here?
Anyone who reads this blog will know the answer. Trash work is for boys. The girls and I just don’t have the necessary genes for managing the household refuse. And Marty? Approximately 30 seconds after we arrived home this evening, Marty had loaded my sneakers, a recently delivered box, and a toy from the busy box into the kitchen trashcan and was pushing it around the room. Clearly he wants to manage the trash, but he’s only two, so it is going to take him a while to catch on. So apparently while the HP is deployed, I must consider taking on a new career as trash picker/dumpster diver/recycling rooter. Ew.
For her birthday Aislinn received a charm bracelet set that came with two bracelets and about 40 little charms that you can change out depending on your mood or outfit (or for no apparent reason if you are a seven-year-old). In a move of great diplomacy, Aislinn offered up the second bracelet to Lauren who quickly picked out five charms that she wanted me to attach. Although we were seated next to each other, Lauren did not want to turn the hardware over to me until she had deposited her used tissue into the trash. I will never discourage a child who 1) is using a tissue rather than me to wipe her nose and 2) is willing to make the trek all the way to the trashcan to throw it away. Approximately 10 seconds after she disappeared into the kitchen, Lauren let up a wail and informed all of us that she had dropped one of the charms in the trash. Unfortunately, these were not enormous toddler-safe charms, but dainty little charms, the size of a small dangling earring.
Since there were 30 other charms in the big charm bracelet set, I didn’t think I needed to be particularly thorough in my search of the trash, but Aislinn and Lauren were both convinced that the one that was missing was most likely their favorite one of all. So I pulled the trash bag out of the can and began looking through it for the teeny little charm. Of course the bag was full, and about halfway down were the contents of the vacuum cleaner. I informed them that it couldn’t be found, and as they set upon their individually designed expressions of woe, I realized that the bag would not fit back into the can, so I spun it around to tie it up, and I actually caught sight of the charm and managed to retrieve it, resulting in a much deserved hero’s reception for me from the weeping girls in the living room. (Approximately 10 seconds after that, Lauren dropped another charm behind the couch, but that one can live there until we move out as far as I’m concerned.)
A few minutes later as I was taking the aforementioned trash bag and some cardboard recycling outside, I noticed that inside the pizza box from Wednesday night was our pizza cutter. It is not an expensive or particularly impressive pizza cutter, but I have been using it quite a bit lately since it is plastic and will not scratch Teflon and hasten our deaths. I don’t normally throw things out, so I was puzzled to find it there, but then I realized, maybe I do normally throw things out, and that is why I can never find anything. I would have spent the rest of our time in this house wondering what happened to that pizza cutter, but I never would have concluded that it had ended up in the trash.
Since I was well into trash duty for the morning (and since we were going away for the weekend) right before I left to take Aislinn to the bus stop, I made a sweep through the house and emptied all of the little trash cans. As I was dumping out one from the kid’s bathroom, I watched a brand new, bright white sock head toward the bottom of the trash bag. Of course I pulled that out too, and now I must ask myself, what exactly is going on here?
Anyone who reads this blog will know the answer. Trash work is for boys. The girls and I just don’t have the necessary genes for managing the household refuse. And Marty? Approximately 30 seconds after we arrived home this evening, Marty had loaded my sneakers, a recently delivered box, and a toy from the busy box into the kitchen trashcan and was pushing it around the room. Clearly he wants to manage the trash, but he’s only two, so it is going to take him a while to catch on. So apparently while the HP is deployed, I must consider taking on a new career as trash picker/dumpster diver/recycling rooter. Ew.
posted by Shannon at 10:22 PM
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