This is the first day I am planning on spending entirely home alone since July. No wonder the house is shambolic. And I have to admit, I am only doing it because we are expecting a delivery. But instead of pining for the fact that I could be playing tennis, I have decided to make a virtue of my house lockdown. Today is the day I am going to get things sorted. Oh yes.
It is before 9am. I have taken children to school, whizzed round the supermarket, done a load of laundry and pegged it out, put the second load in, changed two beds and am about to empty the dishwasher. Seriously doubt my ability to keep up this pace all day.
The delivery is Hubby's birthday present. It's a rowing machine. Anyone else smelling a mid-life crisis? It has probably been precipitated by the fact that I weigh less than him for the first time ever. That and the five minutes of me crowing with laughter when I realized. He tells me that we will all use the rowing machine. I'm thinking it will make a very useful hook for shirts when I'm doing the ironing.
Not sure when the last time I really did the ironing was. Possibly before we went on holiday. The pile has taken over the spare bed. Not a pretty sight. Ironing is the pinch point in my finely tuned laundry process. Because bits of laundry, I like. The washing machine whirring away means I am "being productive", even if I am sitting drinking coffee with a book. And I positively enjoy pegging out the wet washing on the line.
Though perhaps I am investing more energy in that simple task than I might. You see, I am beginning to recognize that I have a stict mental peg heirarchy. In my peg bag (homemade, but badly - yet another domestic shortcoming to add to my list) there are an assortment of peg styles. In fact, delving in there is like exposing the geological strata of my line drying history.
The most elderly are the classic wooden pegs. Everyone has them - they do the job, but tend to migrate to the very bottom of the bag and are thus not in heavy rotation. There are a few plastic pegs from our time in Japan - they are shorter than your average peg (probably some fiendish oriental space saving plan) and I can clearly remember buying them in Yokohama Tokyu Hands and nearly crying at the eye watering expense. Still, twenty years on and they are still in rotation, so cost per use is looking pretty negligable. There are a few primary coloured pincer style pegs - useless at holding washing. I got them as a plaything for Mark when he was a tot (he never liked proper toys) because some Montessori style article said pegging was good for developing fine motor skills. I really should turf them. Along with the other elderly plastic ones which have gone brittle from being outside in cold weather and have a habit of snapping as you squeeze them.
Then come the birthday pressie pegs. Would you be offended to get pegs as a gift? Not these ones - they look like blackbirds perched on your line. I squealed with delight - but they are not good for bulky things - best for tea towels and pillowcases.
I like to arrange the line so they sit next to some of the leaf and twig pegs that Monica found me. Like a naturalistic pegscape. Perhaps I should be concerned that not one, but TWO of my friends know my peg obsession is worthy of buying interesting pegs they come across, knowing how delighted I will be with them....
Gift pegs also have the benefit of someone else making the decision for you - because the agony of selecting my own when I got a longer line and realized I needed more, knew no bounds. In the end I hedged my bets with two different versions of the soft grip, non marking kind, which completes my asssortment.
It goes wothout saying, that pegs must be matched to the item being hung, though not colour co-ordinated. Because that would just be taking matters too far, don't you think? There are limits to my madness.
Hark, I think I hear the beeping of a reversing delivery truck. Thank goodness! Because I think I've shared quite enough domestic luncacy for one morning. Possibly this is the reason why I try not to spend too much time home alone...