So, Why Does Increasing Heat and Humidity Relapse a Previously Perfectly Potty-trained Preschooler?

I chose a really bad time to paint. And by "chose" I mean I thought about it for a couple of years and looked for a convenient opportunity, but instead used the first inconvenient opportunity that fell upon my unthinking, unwitting and absolutely witless head. And by that, I mean the bird incident.

I decided with that "lucky" stroke of having to get the washer and dryer moved outta there (stat!) I would paint the "alcove" in which the washer-dryer stack lives. This is a tricky thing, and I'm not entirely sure how much more tricky it's going to get.

First of all, this lovely cupboard-masquerading-as-a-house doesn't have one 90 degree angle. Therefore there are no square corners or level floors. The washing machine is jacked all the up the one side on it's handy little adjustable legs, and all the way down on the other side. But no, that's not all: there's a slight difference between front and back, too. On any normal floor this washing machine would be dancing the Rumba or the Cha-Cha and probably fall out of the nearest exit that it would unerringly head towards. In it's normal setup, I like to think the dryer sitting on top slows it down. But usually the spin cycle on the washer just shakes off whatever I've thrown up on the dryer to "get it out of the way". You know.

That first tricky bit with the angles and the alcove fit is only the context of this week of my life. Now I'm kicking myself for not jumping right on the painting immediately instead of waiting at least 4 days... and we're now 6 days into this.

The icing on this triple-chocolate caramel fudge melted treat o' mine is this: laundry emergency after laundry emergency; the tiny little space I have to paint in--just slightly smaller than the mass of my body; the heat and the humidity are NOT my friends this week, especially since they both are having effects on the bladder and other various self-control issues of a certain preschooler (whom I still love with all my heart and a clothespin on my nose) leading to aforementioned laundry emergencies. Now he's complaining it's stinky. He's stinky. I'm stinky. We're all stinky. And that is after the baths. Also, now we're running out of clothes.

What does any of this have to do with painting the laundry alcove? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which is how much painting I've been getting done without a babysitter. Oh? Did I forget to mention that it seemed only moments after the Nannie and Apma who came over to help rescue the bird--and therefore assisted in the deconstruction of my laundry facilities--left (on Sunday) to go camping. For a week.

And now I really Really REALLY need to get it done ASAP because by all that is good and holy I will Not take my laundry to a laundromat. I did the next worst thing and ran a load over at Nannie's when we went over to feed their cat, ending up doing it "old school" and hanging it out on a line. It's obvious I haven't used this technique in some time (ever, really) because I don't know the little tricks to it that make your dried clothing nice and less like, say, smoked salmon or beef jerky. My laundry ended up with little spots which I only can conclude that is the fabric softener, as these spots (which look like grease marks) are very fresh scented and remarkable soft to the touch.

So the whole point of this is I need to get my laundry room painted and put back together toute de suite. Like 6 loads of laundry ago.